...
"...Seriously? After all that carnage... This is its name?"
Crazy loomed atop a heap of winged corpses, his expression as cold and empty as the abyss itself.
His jagged midnight-black sword, carved from the essence of hell itself, dripped with blood, while his tattered cloak fluttered, black as void, in the cursed wind. The air was thick with the scent of iron, decay, and the faint tang of brimstone.
Above, the stars bled ichor, casting a sickly glow upon the shattered world below. The winds wailed in agony, whispering the voices of those long forgotten.
A shadow emerged behind him, its form dripping with malice, long hair flowing like liquid darkness. Its eyes, glowing with a pale, soulless fire, fixed on the same status window floating before them.
"...'The Fool's Heaven-Defying Sword Art'... Heh." The figure's voice was a soft chime, like the toll of a funeral bell, tinged with cruel amusement. "The System must truly think us fools to name it such. You know, no one ever gets to choose the names, dear. Fate chooses, and it has no mercy."
Another figure rose from the blood-soaked ground, his movements grotesque, like a corpse stitched together by dark magic. "...∎∎∎∎. You should be grateful, you even forged a skill without invoking the Curse of Plausibility."
His voice was a guttural growl, like grinding bones. "Otherwise, another one of us would have to crawl from the depths of Elysian Sanctum to quell the imbalance. A newborn heroic incarnation would be annoying to deal with."
Crazy sighed, dragging a clawed hand over his neck, his voice dripping with venom. "...I suppose."
Somewhere, in the distance, the sound of a clock ticking echoed, sharp and relentless.
Without warning, shadows twisted and coiled like serpents, forming into a kneeling figure before him. A demonic silhouette emerged, its face obscured by a veil of darkness, head bowed low in fealty.
"...My lord. The Demon King beckons. There's... been a mishap with the Saint of Borderline."
Crazy's eyes flashed with malice. "Tch. That damnable saint. I knew it."
His gaze drifted to the sword in his hand, the cursed blade that pulsed with a terrible hunger.
[The Fool's Heaven-Defying Sword Art.]
"...Might as well see just how much hell it can unleash."
He lifted his gaze, feeling the weight of the malignant golden eyes above, watching, waiting.
A dark smirk curled his lips. "I trust you're all enjoying the spectacle."
The jagged midnight-black sword thrummed in his grip, its surface shifting like the chaotic flow of ink, blacker than the void itself. The air vibrated with a deep, ominous hum as he raised the blade.
"The Fool's Heaven-Defying Sword Art," he whispered, and the name, though absurd, reverberated with an ancient, oppressive power—one that bent the very laws of the universe.
Dark hands reached out from the abyss.
The figures behind him stood frozen, their eyes hollow, unreadable. The ticking grew louder. A sound of inevitability.
Crazy stepped forward.
One step. The sky buckled under the weight of his presence.
Another step. The wind twisted into unnatural shapes, dark and distorted, a manifestation of the world's suffering.
Then—
A single slash.
The fabric of space itself tore asunder, a rift in the very core of existence. A howling abyss poured forth from the blade's edge, swallowing everything in its path.
Winged corpses were hurled into the air from the shockwave, some bursting into geysers of crimson, others shredded to bloody mist. The ground split like rotten flesh, a vast chasm swallowing the battlefield whole.
This wasn't just a sword technique. It was an obliteration—a rejection of all that was, is, or could ever be.
The shadowed figures behind him murmured in disbelief. One gave a low, sinister chuckle. "So this is what he's become."
Another muttered, "That blade... No, he... His very existence is a blasphemy against the System itself."
Crazy stood motionless, watching the destruction unfurl, his expression unchanged. His crimson eyes flickered, nothing more than glimmers of hellish fire in the dark.
Somewhere far away, something screamed.
A voice, faint at first, slipped through the cracks of time and memory.
"Crazy Bastard!"
The stars warped. Reality twisted. The battlefield melted into a void of endless static. The ticking stopped.
"Crazy Bastard!"
A sharp jolt shot through his body. His eyes snapped open.
The weight of the sword in his hands was real. Too real.
Ayeka's bruised and bloodied face was the first thing he saw.
She was gripping his shoulders, shaking him. Hard.
His sword was raised above his head.
No—he had raised it, unconsciously, as if ready to strike her down.
"...What?"
The scent of blood and ash thickened.
Ayeka's bloodied hands clutched her shoulder, her breathing ragged. Her crimson hair was tangled, uneven—cut in places.
"...You're back," she exhaled, a tired smile on her lips. "You crazy demon..."
Then her body went slack. Her eyes rolled back, and she collapsed into his arms.
Crazy blinked.
Slowly, his gaze swept across the clearing.
The trees were gone—cut clean, reduced to mere stumps. Deep fissures split the earth like scars. The air was thick with something unnatural.
The rain had stopped.
Then it hit him.
The False Deity of Forgotten Rain.
His breath caught. He frantically looked around.
It was already dead.
Torn tendrils lay still on the ground, their once-writhing forms now lifeless. The deity's colossal, twisted remains sprawled across the battlefield, silver ichor leaking from severed limbs.
Shattered Guardian corpses littered the field. The earth did not devour them this time.
What… happened here?
…
Meh.
He'd figure it out eventually.
For now-
He turned his attention back to Ayeka.
"...Hey. Ayeka. Wake up."
No response.
He nudged her cheek.
"...Hey, hey. Ayeka. Ayeka. Sociopathic b*tch?"
A flicker of movement. Her brow furrowed—irritated, even in unconsciousness—before relaxing again.
Crazy sighed. This was a problem.
Letting her die here would be the smartest choice.
She was unpredictable. Dangerous. Even if she was useful, her personality was the worst. She had openly said she'd stab them the moment their alliance was over.
Too much of a risk.
And yet...
Something told him not to leave her here.
Logical reasoning, or the random intrusive thought?
It was an easy choice.
He was crazy, after all.
With a sigh, he bent down, hoisting Ayeka onto his shoulder.
It was somehow a bit more harder than expected.
Crazy felt... Weaker... As if his very muscles were withering away...
No. It couldn't be.
It was probably just because she was just heavy... Right?
His balance shifted.
…Ah.
This woman.
He adjusted her weight. Still unbalanced.
Tch.
After some effort, he positioned her onto his back, looping her arms around his neck. His hands went to her legs, as he carried him.
A piggyback ride.
How awkward.
The night was unnaturally silent. No rustling leaves. No distant creatures. Just the steady crunch of his footsteps against ruined earth.
The weight of Ayeka against his back was irritating. She was lighter than she looked, but still dead weight. He could feel her slow, shallow breathing against his neck, her warmth bleeding into his tattered cloak.
Crazy exhaled through his nose.
His mind was still a haze. The battle, the rain, the False Deity—it was all fragmented. One moment, he had been facing an unbreakable wall. The next… he was here.
The remains of the False Deity proved he had won.
But how?
His grip on Ayeka's arms tightened as he walked. The deeper he went, the more aftermath he noticed.
The trees weren't just cut. They were erased, as if they had never existed.
The sky felt wrong, as though it had been torn apart and hastily stitched back together.
And then there was that feeling.
That lingering sensation.
Crawling in the back of his skull.
Like an itch he couldn't scratch.
He had done something unnatural.
Even by his standards.
A flicker of movement.
He stopped, adjusting Ayeka's weight.
His eyes flicked toward the swaying trees ahead.
No wind.
Something was watching.
Crazy narrowed his eyes. The weight on his back suddenly felt heavier.
But whatever was out there... It wasn't moving closer.
For now.
"...Tch."
He clicked his tongue, adjusting his grip as he kept walking.
It didn't matter.
Whatever was lurking in the dark could wait.
Because right now, he had bigger problems.
He hoped there was a hospital nearby.
A new crimson window suddenly popped up in front of his face, blocking his path.
This time, it was more glitchy. The letters moved. Tilted. Abstracted.
[Warning.]
[...The Outer Gods has been alerted of your presence.]
...Huh. What the hell did that mean..?
It seemed... Dangerous.
But something in the back of his mind told him otherwise.
'...They should be fearing me instead.'
[Assimilation rate increased by 5.5%.]