Not So Different From Our Home
For seven days and seven nights, the puppeteer and his entire puppets were drowned by the prismal sea of fire.
It was only by then that the suffering stopped. The riveting flame vanished as if it didn't exist in the first place. Its victim however, was forever cremated into the freest of ash that travels the world amongst the gale.
There were only four survivors.
The first one is none other than Lothair himself. Although he had almost dried all of his Ayin reserve in the fight with the Overlord, he was able to continuously heal himself, preserving a quarter of his body for seven days while letting his regeneration do the rest.
The second survivor was a graceful magus with striking red hair and piscine scales on most parts of his skin. Unlike others, he was able to put up a barrier when his eyes were burned from glancing at the Overlord. Due to the absence of order when the conflict ensued, he maintained and remained within his barrier for seven days.
The third survivor was a humanoid canine demon — a were-wolf. Standing 3 meters tall with upright posture, he possessed a ridiculous rate of regeneration, allowing him to keep all of his life intact amidst the seven days of suffering.
While he was once an opposing Lothair and got his regeneration nullified by the volatile healing factor, it was fully recovered, and even enhanced after he was converted into one of the Manic Puppets.
After all, the technical reason of why the natural regeneration of a demon got reverted by the healing was due to the forced cells' recovery resulting in the self-replicating genetic information to be imposed to mutate disorderly.
Of course, this phenomenon won't occur if Lothair puts his mind into giving a proper healing without any side effects. It's just that he always chooses to give his enemies this ruinous version of his healing.
And then lastly, the fourth survivor of the purge. It was a weapon-mancer with serrated teeth and light blood hair — the very same weapon-mancer with exceptional invisibility spell who managed to cut Lothair into two around ten years ago.
The moment she saw the uninvited guest, she immediately hid inside her hidden space, waiting for command, peeking at the situation, and then waiting, and waiting, and waiting.
As someone who had been assigned as a bodyguard, hiding and then leaping out with her scythe scattered about was the thing that she was very familiar with after she became a Manic Puppet.
Waiting was the only thing she could do.
And then the land was suddenly engulfed by the flaming sea. And so, she decided to keep on waiting, until seven days had passed and the churning prism world was no more.
Their first encounter with an Overlord resulted in an utter, embarrassing defeat. It made them realize that all of those conquests, those skirmishes, and hard work — were nothing compared to a power akin to a force of nature.
But out of the four of them, the realization struck Lothair the most.
"You're telling me… that I'm getting too attached to them, huh..." Lothair muttered under his breath, contemplating on everything that led to this moment. "Is conquest really the thing I want…? Have I even considered what I truly want? Do I've been given too many time, or do I've been running out of time?"
While he wasn't exactly the most vulnerable of demons, he felt a great insecurity of his naked skin. Coated in silence, he took a strand of his silver hair and 'overhealed' it, molding a simple cape that glistened under the air of wretched wasteland.
Wordlessly, he slouchedly embarked into whatever direction in his front. The three Manic Puppets who survived saw him going on his own way. Lothair also noticed them, yet not a single speech slipped out his throat.
If they think about it, this could be their chance to get their freedom back by getting away as far as they could. With their master not giving any specific instructions to them, they weren't obliged to follow him, as long as they didn't mean their master any harm.
These three of the Manic Puppets were one of the most capable and sensible, they should know what's better for them.
Yet…
The weapon-mancer, with a frown grin and clenched hands, determined to silently follow her master.
The other two glanced at each other, and then decided to follow suit.
Lothair heard the sound of vibrant footsteps of them catching up. Instead of looking back, he slouched even further, hiding the eyes that tried his best to hold his tears, and the failed attempt to turn a frown into a smile.
The four of them kept on walking, to somewhere that's not their promised land.
At one time, the Manic Puppets took a long gaze at the depressing, broken land.
And then the back of their master — their leader, and probably the one who had been greatly taking care of them for the past ten years.
'Not so different from our home' was the sentence that appeared within their mind.
For the longest of time, the Manic Puppets were exposed to the brutal and ruthless nature that their master showcased upon his adversary. At the same time, their master didn't really care about their existence, as his eyes were already consumed by madness and the sheer thought of his goal.
However, slowly by slowly, a hint of compassion was brought upon the neverending dedication to march onward. It was at the time when the Ayin and spell formation that held the Manic Puppets intact was degrading, making them feel hunger and fatigue.
It was in the middle of a decisive strike that would put the enemy's demonic dominion into shambles. But the march was abruptly halted. After that, not only that each of the Manic Puppets were checked and had their extremely complex spell structure to be recast one by one, Lothair went out alone and intimidated the enemy to take the offer of 20 days of truce in exchange for provisions and water.
Afterwards, Lothair told his army as an excuse, that he was in the mood to eat laze around for the day, and that it was bad leadership if he were the only one who was eating.
The puppets took his word to heart. After all, why would a ruthless and obnoxious demon like him care for his puppets in the slightest?
It's not like they were in camaraderie or someone who worked together for the same goal. They were expendable resources — they were puppets, formed from their own dead flesh and soul. If one was destroyed, they could either be rebuilt or cast away for a better new one.
And then, a banquet out of nowhere. As if Lothair began to change his definition of puppets and began treating them like a real demon with their own real conscious mind.
"It's unfortunate that we are the only survivors out of everyone else," the magus struck a conversation, trying to lighten the mood.
"As if it isn't obvious enough…" the werewolf rolled his eyes. "Also, you, sharkie! How are you still alive??"
"The name's Daiyan." A vein tightened on her forehead. "And what's up with you, lil' pup? How come you aren't dead yet?"
"Oh, you want to have a go!?"
"Truly, it's unfortunate that out of everyone, that both of you were the one who survived."
"Want me to kick your ass too??" The werewolf bared his fangs.
"Be quiet, lil' pup. Don't you see that Master has enough of your antics? Also, go wear something."
"The name's Garik, and no, my clothing has been turned to ashes since seven days ago!"
Realizing that the werewolf had gone through seven days of literal hell. Daiyan decided to give him the respect he deserved, "Alright, lil' Garik, I admit, you have some good qualities within." Daiyan snickered. "And how about you, red fish?"
"Serja, please refer to me as such."
"Your control of Ein is immaculate." Daiyan awkwardly gave a thumbs up. "Not as great as Master Lothair, but you did well holding that barrier."
"What's with you? You're giving me the goosebumps of the year."
"Your sudden shift of respect is showing more repulsiveness than the warmth of a gentle pond."
"... I regret putting the slightest amount of respect on both of you."
Immediately after, a silverish cape was thrown at Garik from the front. It was perfectly his size.
"Appreciate the thought, Master." Garik immediately bowed with a blazing grin, gazing hard at the ground to prevent his overwhelming feeling of awe and reverence from showing on his face. A true pride as a warrior.
"You really didn't need it with all of those furs of yours." Lothair scoffingly smiled. "Regardless, my hands are too free. As for you both, bear some patience, I'm thinking of reworking your current one with a better textile durability."
"Oooh! We got one too!?"
"Truly, your benevolence surpasses that of the mother tree."
"We still have a long road ahead of us. That is, if the three of you still decided to follow this idiot." Lothair kept on facing forward with a bitter smile on his face. "It might take a while before I repurpose this odyssey, so might as well make ourselves comfortable in the meantime."
"Any plan you have in mind, Master?" Daiyan inquired.
"Hmm, maybe doing what I meant to actually do when the conquest is all over. Of course, now that we barely have anything to continue doing that, it has become quite obvious that the chronological order have been reversed for now."
Serja's eyes beamed with curiosity, yet still maintaining his gracious nature. "And what that might be, esteemed Puppeteer?"
"I want to slowly torture someone," Lothair nonchalantly said with an open claw gesture, dancing a lustful grin from ear to ear. "Since we started focusing on conquering what's in front of us, I began to kill others in much less and less time than before.
"The expression of their failed resolution, the scream and shock for what they beheld right beneath their torso, a moment of breath away that's ripe for the taking, gently fondled and stabbed again and again as they shudder in utter abhorrence in their eyes. I want to experience them again, maybe doing it while experimenting on my healing spell, and see if I can push my limit even further.
"What do you all think?" Lothair glanced back with a proud gaze.
"..."
"..."
"..."
It was at this moment, the rest of them realized that they were grateful for haven't incurred the slightest of his wrath.