Mistress Of The Evil Forest

C̴as̷e̵ 18̵5̶: Out̷ of ̵t̷he ̷ca̴g̵e ̴–̶ O̴n̵ a̶ ̵c̶rimso̷n̶ n̷igh̵t.

''...So it is finally here.''

Peering out the window, Amelia Luminous—the blond one—tiredly sighs. As chaos unfolds across the continent, she alone senses a strange disconnection. For something she has always been expecting, seeing it now... doesn't feel real.

Technically speaking, HIS descent would mark the first time the 'cage' is broken, bringing the story to its final arcs, where Claire faces HIS true form.

Yet, it hasn't even been a full year since the story started here. Nothing stays accurate to the original timeline, and nothing can be said about what happens after this point, either.

HIS avatars might be defeated, but they might not. The only thing she and everybody else can do is to simply give it their all.

So, grabbing her sword and a few items, Amelia heads out.

The capital of Astra is in chaos.

This is perhaps a universal occurrence not limited to the city, yet the people's panic is more palpable than anything else. After all, the city is known to be the last fortress for humanity, equipped with the best personnel and equipment.

And this place has been broken in.

The moon, now methodically peeling its own skin apart, looms over the world as it is. Its throbbing, wrenching guts beneath the layer of rocks look simultaneously repulsive... and fascinating. Each crevice, each bump, each cut of flesh connects to one another in an almost spontaneous pattern yet shares the very same beat.

Yes, the moon has a pulse.

In fact, its thumping quakes are so powerful and nauseous that many can't resist the urge to vomit or flat-out faint. They pound in your head, pierce through your ears, and almost gnaw at your heart. That is the kind of calamity the world has to deal with right now.

At this point, authorities have long been alerted, but deep down, no one dares to expect something to be done. They know the government is just as powerless against such an entity as them.

Inspection doesn't work. In the first place, would something like that even come within the confines of the system? Could they, creatures under the system's rule, dream of reaching a being of such caliber?

Powerlessness borns despair, and as the moon's weak facade crumbles away, humanity is faced with an ultimate decision—to fight against a celestial being or to submit.

''Oh, goddess Neveah...!''

''Please spare me...''

''A-Ah...!''

Soon enough, from beggars to blue-blood nobles, from frail children to the most seasoned fighters, all turn their hearts to Mother Goddess Neveah—the protector of the continent and the last hope for civilization as they know it.

Yet, Neveah is long gone.

''...Time has come. Prepare to dispatch right away.''

''Yes, Archbishop Linsey.''

Of course, this is a fact known only by the highest orders in the Holy Country of Neveah. For the masses, the goddess is still and will be their savior.

But, of course, that glimmer of hope will soon cease to exist.

The world holds its breath as the celestial moon completely forsakes its outer layer, brimming with a dire madness. The color in its hazy white light has long morphed into a heavy, thick red.

The mountains, the plains, the clouds, even the distant stars now bear a crimson tint. At the center of it all, the fleshy entity slowly crawls toward the ground, getting bigger in size by the second.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

Even if it is only a massive sphere of meat and organs, the sheer impact its pulsations bring is enough to crush anyone's mind. They should cower in fear. They should.

...But a good number of humans, contradictorily, develop a fascination with it instead. Even within its hideous, blood-oozing wounds, its twisted, bursting muscles, or its gluey, flaccid webs of dark, fleshy clots... a sort of beauty is found.

It isn't something everyone can agree with, and it certainly isn't something they want to say out loud.

''L-Look at the sky!''

''Dragons! They're dragons!''

''Run!''

Not that they have the mind to spare for it anyway.

At the worst time possible, hordes upon hordes—tens of thousands of winged reptiles begin to fill up Astra's sky. At the same time, creatures designated as monsters also start to go berserk across the continent. Even some that are nominally dormant fall victim to the moon's gaze.

This time, truly, the continent is plunged down a spiral of chaos.

At the imperial palace, on the emperor's office terrace.

''This is... quite something.''

''I'm impressed you can still hold your composure, Your Majesty.''

Turning to his daughter, who bears an ambiguous expression, the emperor, Kaiser, sighs,

''It's not that I am calm, but rather... tired, I suppose.''

Hearing that sentence amidst the distant cries, Sierra chuckles, ''Aren't you supposed to say that we, as members of the imperial family, need to have that kind of poiseness at all times?''

''Your brother and cousin are probably freaking out right now.''

''I guess that's true.''

''...''

''...''

Once that brief silence settles in and a solemn mood descends on the two, their gazes move from the sky to the ground.

Despite having a ludicrously meticulous defense set around the palace and the city as a whole, with five superpowers each capable of falling a nation holding a stronghold, something just doesn't feel right.

The reinforcements from areas beyond the capital will soon pour in. Zircon will move at some point, too. Should they be relieved by that?

No. Something still doesn't click.

A subtle sense of foreboding hangs in the air, and neither of them seems to be able to grasp it.

That might be figuratively, or... literally.

Amidst the sizzling sounds of various mechanisms, ones of colossal scales, being activated around the districts below, a silhouette can be spotted from afar.

Against the bloody moon, atop a menacingly decorated dragon, a humanoid figure gently sits, crossed legs facing to the side. Those with excellent eyesight can easily make out their slender, bleach-white figure swaying to the dragon's wingflaps.

Long, smooth hair, neither male nor female, and a near-perfect sculpture-like face.

Untouched by the crimson madness, they exude an almost otherworldly aura—like a gleaming ray of light in the darkness, like a blooming lotus in a bottomless lake—shining—just like the old moon.

The Primordial Dragon of the Beginning—Goddess Neveah's first ever subject—Yggdrasil.

According to various scriptures, Mother Goddess Neveah brought back a small dragon cub from another world to help nurture life after calamity struck this planet. That cub grew up with civilizations, cultivating its power as millennia went by, and at some point, it must have reached divinity.

There wasn't a concrete consensus, but many believed that...

''...Yggdrasil went missing at some point. Is that right?''

''...''

At the maid's question, Becky—no, Neveah keeps her gaze on the far distant sky, her eyes obscured by the round pair of glasses. Even as the first wave of dragons begins to storm the city, she remains unfazed.

''...You could say that.'' Neveah softly sighs. ''That child... no, just focus on the fight.''

''Don't you want to save it?''

''You ask something ridiculous, miss.''

A dry chuckle. Facing the slit orange eyes of the owl maid, Neveah's own orange eyes flicker for a moment, forsaking their brown veneer.

''That child is lost,'' She replies. ''Innocent or not, it will have to pay back what it has caused to the world now. So, just... don't worry about it.''

''Sure.''

Seeing the goddess's small, dragging shoulders, the maid chooses not to speak further. It is moments like this that make her reminiscent...

...of the first time she met Neveah.