Translator: KJ

A field thick with the stench of gunpowder and blood. The military police were collecting the bodies that had fallen into the pit. The ranks marked on the bullet-pocked uniforms ran the full gamut. Lieutenant Colonel, Major, Captain, Lieutenant, Sergeant, Sergeant, Master Sergeant... The bodies would have their hearts examined first, then most would be burned, but among them, the lowest ranks─that is, 'soldiers'─were rare.

Maximilian's executions had followed a clear standard.

"......."

The soldiers gazed at Maximilian where he stood in that blood-soaked place. Even at the scene of a massacre of hundreds, he showed not the slightest tremor. Only a dry composure, as if this were nothing more than any other day.

"Lieutenant Colonel Goetz."

Suddenly, Maximilian called for him.

"Yes, Sir."

"How has Edmon been faring lately?"

At the name that had abruptly come out from his lips, Goetz quietly lowered his head. The Imperial Regular Army's youngest Colonel, Edmon Bruindol.

"...Yes, Sir. He is in the North at present."

"I see."

Goetz watched Maximilian's mood for a moment, then asked for further instructions.

"How... shall we report this to the higher-ups?"

A summary execution of senior leadership. A mass shooting numbering in the hundreds.

A knight, as the Empire's overseer, was said to hold extralegal authority, but a scale like this was on another order entirely. It meant a matter that could overturn the entire military.

"Disclose precisely what occurred. We caught them in embezzlement of military supplies and covert dealings with a hostile state, and so the traitors were made an example of, and executed......"

The evidence was more than sufficient.

Lieutenant Adel, with his characteristic diligence, had preserved nearly all of his interception records, and the fragments across various frequencies he had unknowingly collected would now be deciphered by Maximilian's staff officers.

"You, on the other hand."

Maximilian slowly turned his head. His gaze fell upon the survivors.

"Will receive your due reward."

A reward bestowed by him. Every face wavered.

"But mark my words. This is not a one-time matter."

His golden eyes swept over them.

"I now know your faces and names."

He added with a faint curve at the corner of his lips.

"I expect you to prove yourselves and strive ceas⁠⁠⁠‌‍⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠‌‌‌⁠‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌‌‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌‌⁠‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌‌⁠‌⁠‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌‌⁠‌⁠‌⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠‌‍⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌‌⁠‌⁠‌⁠‌⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌‌‌⁠elessly, so that I may continue to find you worth remembering."

The survivors stared at him blankly for a moment before belatedly snapping to a salute.

...Loyalty.

And so, they earned an 'impression' from Maximilian. Yet the weight of that honor came with an equal measure of dread.

Today, Maximilian had executed hundreds of Imperial soldiers. But there had been no malice in any of his actions. His killings had a clear reason. He had simply, dispassionately, purely carried out what needed to be done.

Which was precisely why, all the more──

He was an unknowable man.

.......

The Weiss Family was famous throughout the Empire as a house of immense wealth. Their lines of influence stretched through the military, long-cultivated and resilient. Lieutenant Colonel Eaton had leveraged his assets to seize control of the eastern border region.

It had been a clever choice, in its way.

The West was full of old-line nobility, and the Capital crawled with surveillance and constraint, so he had set out to enact his "will" in the East.

The late Brigadier General Jouken, who had clung to Eaton and fed on the scraps, had been no different.

Jouken's direct senior at the military academy had been Division Commander Caleb, the keystone of the eastern front, and Caleb in turn was a particularly close junior of the Eastern Corps Commander.

Which is to say, they were bonds forged over more than a decade of building the Eastern Army together, ties as thick as blood, and yet...

"......Sir."

Those ironclad connections had snapped in a single instant.

─You have only two options, Caleb.

A single step from Maximilian Ebenholtz.

Or, a light clearing of his throat.

That alone had been enough to tear the East up by the roots.

─Either you take off the uniform.

Division Commander Caleb swallowed dryly at the voice coming through the receiver.

─Or you offer up your neck.

They had sold supplies to the hostile Eastern Alliance. No matter how customary the practice had been, the moment Ebenholtz decided to make an issue of it, no pretext could be more airtight. Which meant the excuse that "it was the subordinates acting on their own" was no longer available.

─The Weiss Family is wrecked now too. Direct line, collateral line, every last one of them summoned to the Sentinels, from what I hear.

The Sentinels. To everyone in the Empire, they were objects of pure terror.

By a si⁠⁠⁠‌‍⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠‌‌‌⁠‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌‌‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌‌⁠‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌‌⁠‌⁠‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌‌⁠‌⁠‌⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠‌‍⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌‌⁠‌⁠‌⁠‌⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌‌‌⁠ngle "Sentinel summons", even a house like the Weiss had been blown to dust within half a day.

─Set down everything you have and stay quietly in your corner. If you want to keep your life, at least.

"......Understood."

Caleb's voice trembled.

─Mark this well, Caleb.

The truth was, the Corps Commander was no different himself.

A man who, even at a rank and station envied by all, could not help but live in fear. A nobleman who brushed the very ceiling of Imperial society.

─He is not an opponent we can stand against.

"......Yes, sir."

Click.

The call cut out. Major General Caleb's legs gave out beneath him, and he sank to the ground. Burying his face in both hands, he silently swallowed the name of the disaster that had befallen them.

.......

The Western Republic of Prozen, a research office at the national university.

Professor Jean Pierre let out a hollow laugh at the intelligence relayed to him by Intelligence Bureau Director Akenzi.

"Hah."

A storm of blood had swept the Empire's eastern border.

Soldiers implicated in military corruption and traitorous dealings had been executed on a massive scale.

"Hundreds exe⁠⁠⁠‌‍⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠‌‌‌⁠‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌‌‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌‌⁠‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌‌⁠‌⁠‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌‌⁠‌⁠‌⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠‌‍⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌‌⁠‌⁠‌⁠‌⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌‌‌⁠cuted, you said?"

Even the rough figure the Prozen Intelligence Bureau had pinned down was nearing three hundred.

"That's right. A brigadier general, plus dozens of field-grade officers, all lost their heads. No trial. Summary execution, right there on the spot."

What astonished Jean Pierre was the rank of the targets.

Jean Pierre knew history. He knew the history of the Imperial Army.

In cases like this, the lower ranks normally shouldered most of the blame. Even when the matter was driven upward for the sake of appearances, it stopped at the company-grade officers, and most of the time the affair was minimized and buried long before that.

For the Imperial military, especially the border forces, that was simply how things worked.

In a closed institution like the army, the leadership banded together to defend their vested interests and their own safety. Which was why for a general officer to lose his head was exceedingly rare. And yet...

"If the court-martial keeps unfolding, more stars could fall. From what I hear, the generals tangled up in this are about to be summoned one after another."

"......."

Jean Pierre's fingertips trembled. He quietly closed his eyes.

In the darkness behind his lids, the faint outline of someone rose to the surface.

Blond hair neatly combed back. Features as finely cut as sculpture.

"......Akenzi. Who do you suppose is the one behind this purge?"

At Jean Pierre's question, Akenzi answered with a bitter smile.

"Why ask w⁠⁠⁠‌‍⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠‌‌‌⁠‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌‌‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌‌⁠‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌‌⁠‌⁠‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌‌⁠‌⁠‌⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠‌‍⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌‌⁠‌⁠‌⁠‌⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌‌‌⁠hen you already know?"

All at once, that cold-edged gaze surfaced in his mind.

"A man who can purge this many figures from the military and walk away untouched."

Those eyes at the museum, smiling as they had offered a handshake.

Before he knew it, the young man's face had taken full and vivid form before him.

"No. A man for whom such a purge feels nothing if not natural."

He was the monster of the Ebenholtz, the one all of them knew so well.

"Maximilian, of course."

Jean Pierre opened his eyes quietly. He looked out the window. Tap. Tap-tap. Raindrops gathered on the glass and ran down. The rainy season had arrived without his noticing, and the sky was stained the color of ink.

"It's going to rain. For a good long while."

Jean Pierre gave a wry smile as he prepared the next day's lecture.

.......

The Arte Museum.

Princess Justine had been standing in the middle of the empty gallery since the early hours. She had heard that a large collection of new masterpieces had arrived at the museum.

"Ohhh......"

Across the pure white expanse of the walls, masterworks steeped in time and history hung in succession.

『March at Dawn』, painted by Raphaelo von Strauss, a master of the Empire's founding era.

The grim resolve of the knights raising aloft blood-stained banners was so vivid it seemed about to burst through the canvas.

Beside it, 『A Walk by the Blue Riverside』 by Édouard Manet, founder of the Prozen Impressionists. The soft colors were lovely.

Next, 『Portrait of the Fallen』, left behind by the southern genius Titian. His distinctive, eerie play of light and shadow had gone unappreciated in its day, but in the present he was acknowledged among the most expensive painters of all.

Beyond these, five or six classical masterpieces, each fetching millions of dollars at the continent's auction houses, caught the light at perfect intervals as though every one of them had found its rightful home.

"......Your Highness."

Museum Director Verdi approached cautiously as she admired the paintings.

"Truly fine paintings have arrived."

"Yes, Your Highness. The visitors have grown more numerous as well."

Replying with all due deference, Museum Director Verdi studied the profile of the Princess, half-revealed beneath the hood of her robe.

"You seem to be in unusually fine spirits today."

At those words, Justine's eyebrows twitched faintly.

"......Do I?"

"Yes, Your Highness. You seem far more lighthearted than usual."

The Princess turned her head abruptly and looked at the decorative mirror set at the end of the corridor.

The face reflected within.

A smile faint as a watercolor wash, yet unmistakably there at the corner of her lips.

"......So I am. I'm never quite sure of my own expressions, you see."

Perhaps. The reason, perhaps...

It was likely on account of the news from the East.

The bloody storm that had swept the eastern front.

A brigade's corrupt leadership and hundreds of crooked soldiers had been summarily executed on the spot by a single knight. The news had spread beyond the military and into the salons of the Imperial capital itself.

A merciless, surgical purge, the kind even Maximilian's father Sebestian would inwardly take pride in.

"The East... you say?"

Museum Director Verdi's expression was less than glad. No doubt because he was an intellectual.

Scholars and learned types had no taste for cruelty. Was it that knowledge and intelligence cultivated some useless empathy and compassion?

But then, he was merely a museum director, nothing more.

For a museum director, a temperament that fine could be tolerated.

"Yes. The East."

Maximilian had cut down without mercy the vermin who had deserved to die. The very breed of filth Justine despised most, he had massacred them all without sparing a single thought for his own reputation.

"It has been a long time since news this pleasing reached my ears......"

That decisiveness, that resolve, the Princess found genuinely to her liking.

In the eyes of the Princess gazing at her own reflection, a strange anticipation rose.

* * *

I returned from the East. Only, my feet carried me not to the Knight Order's headquarters but to the Underground City.

「Out Studio」.

The workshop of "Filty", the surviving Outcast, set up on the outskirts of the Underground City. Inside, Filty was seated in a chair at her desk.

"The comic seems to be selling rather well."

I picked up one of the volumes piled on the table.

The comic 『Outcast』 had, just as I'd anticipated, drawn considerable popularity from its very first print run.

Second printing, third printing, fourth printing... beyond the back alleys of the Underground City, it would surely capture readers all the way at the heart of the Empire too.

"It was entertaining enough."

Volume 1 told of the Outcast members' wretched pasts and their escape from the T24 Research Institute.

The unreleased Volume 2 now in my hand.

[ Meden: Ahh, I'm sleepy. Can't we knock off work already? ]

[ Elze: Knock off what? Don't you know time is life for a mercenary? The moment yo⁠⁠⁠‌‍⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠‌‌‌⁠‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌‌‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌‌⁠‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌‌⁠‌⁠‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌‌⁠‌⁠‌⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠‌‍⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌‌⁠‌⁠‌⁠‌⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌‌‌⁠u rest, it's over! ]

A series of omnibus-style episodes of them taking root in the Underground City and building their reputation as mercenaries.

[ And so, on a certain day, as「Outcast」was coiling itself there at the bottom of it all. ]

Near the final page of this Volume 2─ I made my entrance.

[ The deepest and most resplendent place in the Empire. ]

[ Where a platform rose high above a plaza filled with a great throng of people. ]

[ Receiving the applause and cheers of all...... ]

[ Hooray! Hooray! Clap clap clap clap! ]

The grand induction ceremony of the Sentinel Knight Order. Filty had rendered the scene of that place with bone-chilling accuracy.

[ 'Max Eben' ]

[ He joined the Sentinels. ]

She had cleverly avoided the actual names, but anyone could see it was me.

"......The composition's not bad either."

Filty watched in silence as I turned the pages of the comic.

"If you've got something to say, say it."

At my permission, she opened her mouth.

"Let me ask just one thing. Why did you let me live?"

Thud.

I closed the book. I raised my eyes and met hers.

"......I'd rather ask you the same thing."

The length of「Outcast」to come from here would fall vastly short of the original work.

The ending, too, far from being hopeful, would close with the wretched deaths of its protagonists.

So, honestly speaking...

"Why are you still alive? Is it to see this comic through to its end?"

I had expected Filty to take her own life.

Hector Mason was dead, T24 was shut down, and to Filty, the Outcasts had been something more precious than her own life.

"......Because I became curious."

Filty clenched both fists tight.

Glaring at me dead on, she spat out these words.

"I became curious about how you end."

...The end.

My end.

"I wanted to watch with my own two eyes what kind of final moment you'd meet. A picaresque, as a rule, doesn't end well."

Filty was waiting for the end of the man who had annihilated the Outcasts.

I gave a small smile.

"What a coincidence. I'm curious about my own ending too."

I naturally dragged a chair over and sat down across from her.

Filty asked.

"Now answer my question. Why did you let me live?"

"......."

I sat lost in thought, fingers laced together.

Jacob. The first Ezenheim I had ever killed.

The entire species called Ezenheim appeared to move in concert toward a single goal, the extinction of humanity, yet even within that swarm, there were bound to be outliers, individuals who fell far below the average.

"Filty. The 'possibility' that you might be able to see what I see."

That had been Jacob, and Jacob had been a stroke of fortune for me.

If, out of a thousand, no, out of ten thousand, even one more.

If just one more of his kind would appear before me.

"It's because I want to believe in that possibility."

"......What you see?"

She furrowed her brow as though she couldn't make sense of it.

I leaned deep into the back of the chair and murmured softly.

"Yeah. You can take it as nothing more than a bit of comic-book fantasy if you'd like."

Filty's gaze locked onto my lips.

"Ezenheim."

Her shoulders jerked at the word.

"Those things aren't actually a subspecies. They aren't human at all."

Her expression froze. The look in her eyes was that of someone listening to the ravings of a crazy bastard.

"Their ultimate purpose is──"

But if it was her, the one with Clairvoyance.

If it was her Special Ability, the one that peered into every crack of the world.

"The annihilation of humanity."

Then someday, she might just be able to seize the tail of this truth that only I know.

"And so my cause is to slaughter every last one of them and save humanity, which is why."

I looked her dead in the eye and spat out the reason I had "let her live".

"I want you to keep watching me."

~~~

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