Netherworld Retrograde

This land ravaged by war seemed to have been utterly forgotten by the entire world.

The man leaning on a long spear stared blankly ahead, leading an equally bewildered girl, staggering step by step through scorched earth and ruins.

The Battle Armor on his body still faintly bore traces of former majesty, a blood-colored Cloak swaying in the wind behind him; that spear which should have been able to cleave mountains and rivers was, at this moment, being used as a crutch to support his body.

The girl at his side was tall and slender; beneath her waiter's uniform was a neat set of tight black clothes.

One of her hands clutched his arm in a death grip, the other dragged a blood-stained Longsword; she followed half a step behind, treading precisely on his shadow, as if that were her only coordinate in this strange world.

The Wanderers around them receded like the tide; on their twisted faces there appeared a strangely human-like expression of Fear, as though they were afraid of something.

Yet some other Wanderers let out greedy and furious low growls. The surging power contained within the flesh and blood of the strong was, to them, an irresistible temptation.

Greed and Fear intertwined within the hearts of these masterless monsters; they were unwilling to retreat yet dared not advance, merely forming a chaotic encircling Circle from afar, like a pack of Beasts peering at their Prey.

The man looked at them in confusion.

He did not know why he would appear here, nor even who he actually was. Like a newborn just descended into the world, he was opening his eyes for the first time to face this strange and shattered world.

The girl beside him clung tightly to his arm; that dependence was so natural that he did not push her away. Because in the very first instant he opened his eyes, the one he saw was her. She too did not know why she felt so close to him—were they kin, bound by blood?

"Kin."

This notion surfaced in the blank expanse of the man's mind, carrying a faint, elusive warmth. He felt that he ought to have kin... yet the hazy silhouette in the depths of his memory did not seem to be her....

He lowered his head to look at the girl. She lifted her bewildered eyes to meet his gaze; within those eyes, aside from the same helplessness, there was a trust and reliance so subtle even she herself did not understand it. In her pupils, the man saw his own equally bewildered face.

Afterward, the two continued forward in silence. On the distant horizon, Green Flames flickered, silently drawing the man's gaze.

Those Flames were both familiar and strange, as if they had come from some long-forgotten dream. Almost by instinct, he lifted his feet and walked toward that patch of green.

At the same time, the most primitive philosophical question began echoing through the blankness of his mind:

"Who am I?"

A tremendous sense of dissonance surged through his consciousness like a tide; by sheer instinct he felt that nothing before his eyes was quite right.

"Who am I?" the man asked himself again.

In a daze, a blood-red Throne rose up within his consciousness, and a voice that shook the cosmos boomed forth:

"My Divine Chosen, Blood God's Blade, Emperor's Fall!"

The Chaos Miracle closely linked to him erupted at that moment in dazzling splendor!

Countless torrents of fanatical faith surged into his mind like a flood:

"O great Divine Chosen..."

"Noble, tyrannical, and mighty!"

"The walking form of our Lord!"

"The incarnation of our Lord!"

"The most extreme violence in all this world!"

"You shall lead us to the most glorious Battlefield!"

The prayers and cries of the Chaos believers in an instant ignited the slumbering savagery in the depths of his heart. He suddenly understood—this spear in his hand, now used as a crutch, was a weapon, an "offering" that ought to be bestowed upon all living things!

His gaze swept over those monstrous Wanderers; an uncontrollable impulse surged up within him, urging him to rush forward at once and tear them to pieces.

However, another kindly yet ancient voice sounded softly; the Chaos Holy Artifact from the Eternal Life Faction upon him bloomed with a ghostly green radiance in response.

"You are my child; you are the Son of Plague Father."

A dark green, bloated figure emerged within his consciousness, stewing a cauldron of lethal broth, yet turning toward the man with an almost fatherly smile.

The wounds on the man's body healed in an instant, and in his eyes the Corpses strewn across the ground were no longer a scene of horror, but fertile beds nurturing plague. He came to understand the cycle of life and decay, and with delight yearned to throw himself into it.

The surrounding Corpses rotted away in the blink of an eye, turning into a malignant plague that spread outward in all directions!

A great number of Wanderers dissolved into blood and pulp the very instant they came into contact with the virus, like one crimson, eerie blossom after another opening upon the earth.

Yet this wondrous and terrifying "new birth" was quickly overlaid by another power.

From the Abyss of desire came a crisp laugh, both seductive and holy:

"You are the embodiment of art and beauty, my walking form upon earth that spreads desire; you are the walking of delight."

Thus, the man suddenly grasped what "art" meant, and clearly "saw" the churning emotions within the hearts of the surrounding Wanderers—savagery, greed, hunger, and a dense, overpowering Fear.

How novel....

So this is emotion? Then do I, myself, also possess these emotions and desires?

As he pondered, his gaze drifted back to the girl behind him. He set down the spear and reached out to gently stroke her cheek; her expression remained blank, like that of a newborn fawn.

The man lowered his head and left a distinct bite mark upon her slightly parted lips. The taste of blood spread between their lips and teeth, as though awakening the slumbering savagery and desire in his heart.

A misty sheen of tears rose in the girl's eyes, yet she still did not loosen the hand clinging to his arm.

For some reason, a sudden, inexplicable self-loathing flooded his heart, making him abandon further exploration of desire. He lifted his hand and pulled the clothes he had torn from her back into place.

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