Chick 350
by Cristae350
Before the great door that led to the Cradle—
Ensuring none could pass, Mephisto stood in the cold silence, hand tightly gripping the sword’s hilt.
A god must look after even the smallest of creatures. That, after much torment, was the decision he had made.
Mephisto placed his hand on the door handle and drew a deep breath.
Creeeaaak—
The door opened. A chill wind swept out.
A snowy field stretched beyond.
Inside the carriage crossing the drawbridge toward the imperial palace.
They set out at once for the palace, for the Witch of Truth had declared she could heal the Emperor.
All well and good—except…
Bailach of the past, arms crossed, gazed at the trio of kids seated before him.
Three little ones:
One—the Witch of Truth, shouting “Impudence!”
Another—a Familiar with Mephisto’s face.
And the last—a boy who looked, for all the world, like a miniature version of Bailach himself in youth.
Familiars, able to take on human form at will. Normally, such transformation was no easy feat.
She truly was a witch.
And that was not all.
The story they spun was absurd beyond belief.
Bailach shook his head and asked once more, incredulous:
“What did you say?”
“Cabalon will use Mephisto to seal His Majesty, then plans to build a tower upon the Cradle where His Majesty is confined.”
The sharp, black-haired boy—bearing a striking resemblance to himself—summed it up succinctly.
Mouth agape, Bailach turned to the witch.
“Witch.”
“Y-Yes?”
Startled to be put on the spot, On Groo darted her gaze between Mephisto and Bailach.
For once, the two nodded together in agreement.
‘They must have reconciled.’
It seemed the two had spoken at length while On Groo met the Witch of Truth.
Those two, who could never stop bickering, now presented a united front.
It had been right to force them to sit down and have it out.
On Groo smiled in satisfaction and declared with all due dignity,
“It’s the truth!”
“……”
Bailach of the past looked utterly unconvinced, yet, confronted by the Witch of Truth herself, seemed forced to consider.
“A madman he may be, but would he go so far…?”
A Familiar betraying their master—unthinkable.
“Then Cabalon, he’s… a bad person?”
“Cabalon is…”
Bailach trailed off at On Groo’s question.
They’d never seen eye-to-eye: Cabalon the visionary against himself, the realist.
But was that really all? Was there something deeper, right from the start, in their disposition as Familiars?
Either way, a meeting was in order.
Just then, the carriage arrived before the imperial palace.
At once, Mephisto and Bailach transformed into a plump fledgling and ugly hamster.
The chick and the hamster scampered up to perch on On Groo’s head and shoulder.
Bailach was first out of the carriage, then reached in and gently lifted On Groo, now burdened with animals, to the ground.
He leaned close to her ear and whispered,
“I’ll trust you. I’m going to confront Cabalon. You, go straight to His Majesty.”
He pointed ahead.
“Follow the largest hallway in this direction. At its end, you’ll find great doors. His Majesty is inside; you shouldn’t need long to reach him.”
“Okay!”
As On Groo answered brightly and prepared to set off at a dash, Bailach caught her small head, pulling her back.
“Witch. I say it again: His Majesty is not in his right mind.”
His voice was heavy with unease.
The witch claimed only she could heal the Emperor, but whether it was truth—who could say?
If she failed, whatever befell this little one at the hands of a mad Emperor, no one could predict.
Had it not been for Cabalon…
Bailach ground his teeth, then murmured,
“…Be careful.”
Gulping, On Groo nodded furiously.
“…Okay.”
Watching the carriage arrive from the window, Cabalon squeezed his eyes shut.
Then—
Bang!
The door flew open with a crash.
“Cabalon!”
At Bailach’s furious shout, Cabalon turned.
“Bailach—elder brother.”
“How many times have I told you not to call me by that ridiculous title? I tire of repeating myself.”
“You’re as cold as ever.”
At that smile, Bailach felt an instinctive urge to bare his teeth.
“And you’re as insane as ever.”
With those words, Bailach grabbed Cabalon by the collar, slamming him against the wall.
Thud!
The stone wall shook with force.
Cabalon, though, did not flinch.
“What’s gotten into you all of a sudden?”
Bailach tightened his grip, teeth bared. Glancing at the blueprints scattered across the desk, he growled,
“Still working on those damn tower plans, I see?”
“The tower will serve as a trial—a place for us to move forward.”
“Still raving, still mad as ever!”
Words wouldn’t get through at this rate.
Bailach slammed Cabalon’s head harder against the wall.
Thud—!
To intimidate him. He had to know whether everything the Witch of Truth said was true.
But—
There was no sensation in his hand.
Bailach narrowed his eyes. Something was off.
He had certainly grabbed him—yet it was as if he clutched nothing.
“Ha! Hahahahaha!”
Bailach gritted his teeth, trying to strangle his foe—
“Hahahahaha!”
But air slipped between his fingers.
“…A shadow?”
At that instant, Cabalon’s features blurred and wavered.
The real Cabalon was not here.
‘In that case…!’
Bailach turned at once.
Whooosh—
The corridors of the imperial palace were eerily silent.
Though sunlight streamed through the ornate windows, it felt more lonesome than warm.
On Groo glanced about nervously.
The hush was so profound, even the grand paintings hanging on the walls seemed drained of life.
‘M-Maybe a little scary.’
Shivering, On Groo swung her staff back and forth, raising her voice in forced song just to break the silence.
“With my bumpy, splendid shape~ clad in red~”
Her voice resounded up and down the corridors.
Pleased with herself, On Groo hugged Lucifer close and strode on.
“Sweet and tangy, fragrant air~ dapper Mr. Tomato~”
How long had she walked?
Following the widest passage, she at last came to an enormous door.
Just then—
Flap—
A sound, like a curtain fluttering, reached her from behind.
On Groo turned.
“So small, to be a witch.”
A man’s low, smooth voice tickled her ear.
He had crept up silently, bending to meet On Groo’s eyes.
“Unexpected.”
Within his gaze glimmered the mark of Gnosis.
On Groo instinctively backed away a step.
It was Cabalon.
Crunch, crunch.
Mephisto pressed forward, boots crunching in the snow.
At the far edge of his vision, the Emperor, long hair streaming, tore at the snowy earth with bare hands.
Mephisto gripped the sword.
Cold metal pressed against his palms, chilling him to the core.
Tension made his fingertips tremble; the frigid air rushed into his lungs, came out as a shaky breath.
Silently, he approached, staring at the Monarch’s broad back.
He raised the sword, aiming the tip at the monarch—
But could not strike, not yet.
If he drove the blade in here, it would truly be the end.
‘I do not expect forgiveness.’
He steeled himself to thrust the sword—
“Hmm… hmmm…”
He froze.
‘A song…?’
The Emperor had turned and was humming softly.
Suddenly, Mephisto’s whole body turned to ice.
The sword’s tip hovered, motionless, suspended.
The Emperor’s gaze did not meet his. He stared into the distance, far across the snowy waste.
“Hmm… hmm, hmm…”
The thin, wavering melody drifted over the cold expanse, soaking into the snow.
And gradually, his blurred eyes grew clear.