A Witch in her lavender dress rode atop a broomstick at the night sky, her figure outlined by the Moon’s backdrop.
She stared at the Southern District of the Residential Quarters. Despite the buzzing markets, dark corners were hidden in the streets, perfect for shady dealings.
She closed her eyes to focus, her senses linked with hers via .
With a howl echoing, she opened them to scan through the buildings before settling onto a lightless pavent.
Three fallen Cultists with one executive shivering at the wall. Along with another familiar white-hooded Witch.
Bingo. Patting her , she glided down towards them, the breeze caressing her cheeks refreshingly.
Landing on the stone pavent, she observed the unfeeling expression on ’Wrath’.
Even as the white-hooded Witch winced at her arrival, her indifferent eyes remained locked on the trembling cultist, who huddled against the wall.
l’s lips curled at ’Wrath’. "Waiting for ?"
Holding her sheathed Katana off her waist, Wrath nodded. "For your . Yes."
l observed around. The fallen Cultists bore not a wound on their bodies, not even signs of struggles on their faces.
She humd in amusent. "You only ’slice off’ their consciousness?"
Despite her nonchalance, the Witch of Lust was a little surprised as Wrath’s sense of justice was more volatile and violent.
If it were the usual her, the Cultist’s bodies would be scorched clean into ashes, without a trace.
Wrath’s gaze flickered over the Cultist. Her hand tightened over the unsheathed Katana, now off the waist to prepare for a swing.
Her voice echoed against the silent street with a slight quiver. "I promised."
Her Sword Art, , had truly awakened, yet it was born of countless sacrifices, forged through a devil’s bargain, and sealed by a vow she refused to break.
Casting a hesitant glance at the smiling l, she turned back to the trembling Cultist. "Not going to. Control him?"
The Witch of Lust pressed a finger to her chin. "Too many brainwashed Cult mbers would only draw the ’s notice, I’m afraid."
manipulated the soul directly through sound, bearing no trace of mana or illusions for detection.
Yet despite the ’s distant handling of the cult, too many sneaky behaviours would undoubtedly draw her attention.
"Of course." Her eyes darted to the trembling cultist. "That didn’t apply if that person in question was an Executive."
The embodied the trait of the most out of all ’s familiars.
Though smart, she remained stubbornly convinced that the Executives and Archbishops she chose would never betray her.
That did not change even when her ’closest friend’ warned her once, l clearly rembered that didn’t change her ways in the canon tiline.
Wrath gave a cautious glance. "Do be careful. The . A ruthless scher."
l shrugged. "That makes her predictable, not dangerous."
She tapped an index finger over her lips, smirking. "Pride’s familiars weren’t exactly the type to change their stubbornness should they see fit. They never derailed from a plan once they were set on it."
As l could recall, it was how other Witches turned on Pride familiars so easily. A plan that couldn’t adapt to tis was no plan at all.
Wrath raised her brows. "Then what about? Other Witches. ?"
The Witch of Lust stretched her arm towards the cultist. "I’d like to say I’ll awaken them in due ti since the was still afar, but not for Lila specifically."
.
She watched as the Cultist silently hung his head before turning back to Wrath. "I haven’t asked you, but would you help us in the { Draconic Invasion }?"
Wrath’s hand raised to tip her hood down, her expression further hidden. "I’ll consider it."
l rely humd as the controlled Cultist left quietly. For a Witch to , there needed to be a direct stimulant that corresponded to their .
For example, in the original tiline, Lila when she realised her jealousy for others’ families, and her unresolved grief beneath it.
Wrath, however, was the sole exception to this rule.
The Witch of Lust murmured, her voice edged with a rare trace of regret.
"Do you still hate the other Witches, Wrath?"
Because, unlike other that bred hatred for humanity, Wrath’s was hatred directed at the Witches themselves and their cris.
She lifted her arm, pulling back the hood slightly to reveal an indifferent face, without a flicker of anger or any wavering in her gaze.
For behind the loose grey lock of hair was nothing but cold, unmoved stillness.
"I once did. Rather, perhaps I still did."
Yet her tone grew steady as she shifted her grey eyes to l, softened as if baring a sentint that could no longer be received.
She muttered, asking. "What do you see as, l?"
Noting how there is no longer any robotic speech pattern, l pulled back slightly and brushed her hairlock aside.
Her golden eyes t Wrath’s with sincerity. "Soone different from the Wrath I know of. More calm. More experienced. More..."
A word caught in her throat before she rested her fingers on the Katana, a regretful smile tugging at her lips. "More dishonest, if you will believe it."
Wrath’s grasp over her sheath tightened.
l’s touch on her weapon was like a snowflake landing on firewood, dousing the last of her burning resolve.
For a mont, she took a deep breath. She knew not how to deceive like the Saintess, but at least she could offer her comfort, in a sense.
"I was soone who was born with nothing. Soone who desperately searches for a purpose, and I find only sharpened hatred at the end."
The hand that grasped no sword reached out and cupped l’s cheek.
Facing her directly, the Witch of Wrath stated in a flat, even tone. "Now, that hatred has already burnt itself clean."
l’s eyes widened, whispering. "Why?"
A quiet gasp escaped Wrath as she saw l’s shimring eyes flutter with a somber curiosity.
The calm returned to her, like the last breath of a long-forgotten storm.
"It just fell apart," she murmured. "All of it."
Upon Wrath’s confession, l withdrew her hand from the katana.
The Saintess and Wrath both harbored secrets from her. But unlike the Saintess, Wrath was far more withdrawn and reluctant to divulge what had happened.
Even the nature of their deal remained shrouded.
Because in l’s mory of the original tiline, that deal had never existed.
Even then, her palms cradled Wrath’s cheek.
The ashen lock of hair slipped between her fingertips like silken linen, cool and delicate without a thread of heat.
"Wrath."
Perhaps it was a little too sudden for her.
But l never allowed any Witch alone, even Wrath herself.
With a more resolute, even teasing smirk, she probed. "Could you try to say ’I love you’ once, to ?"
l’s eyes curved in delight.
For Wrath’s expression, finally, bore a slight yet noticeable faint blush.
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