Heavy fog cloaks the wilderness, burying the dense forest beneath layers of suffocating mist.
It's the dead of night in Whitehorse, where townsfolk slumber peacefully, blissfully unaware of the dark events transpiring in the forest beyond.
Through the dim haze, two figures dart along the forest path with hunched shoulders, clutching their bundles protectively as they sprint from tree to tree, finally ducking behind a massive trunk where they crouch gasping for air.
We... we ran far enough, right? We're safe now?
His voice carried a tremor that didn't match his expensive clothes.
Ha, haha... We've come so far. No way those Angel fools can catch us now.
Good riddance to those broke losers... Mammon's treasure is all ours now!
The woman laughs as she rummages through her bundle and produces a coin, its surface bearing an intricately carved skull that glints with hypnotic golden fire in the forest's pale light.
Honey, do you still remember the spell to unlock the treasure vault...
...Hush.
The woman quickly covers the man's mouth with her hand.
Careful. Someone might be listening. We'll discuss this later when we—
Before she can finish, a blade pierces through her chest.
Blood-drenched claws withdraw from her chest as crimson streaks paint the tree bark. She hits the ground without even a scream.
...Treasure... thieves... must... die!
As the woman collapses, a corpse-pale figure steps out from behind the tree, its mouth stretched in a grotesque grin that seems to mock their foolishness.
AHHH—!!!
Terror consumes the man completely, yet even in this overwhelming fear, he still remembers to tear the gold coin from his dead wife's grasp before stumbling toward the far side of the woods.
As he crashes through the undergrowth, branches tear his expensive clothes to shreds. The elegant coat with its meticulous tailoring is reduced to nothing more than a blood-soaked rag.
The Angel rattles behind him, the sound echoing through the trees, and without even turning around, he knows it's closing in fast.
Someone... anyone, please help me! I don't want to die here!
As if the merciful Cardinal Deity has heard his prayers, a tall, slender figure materializes in the path ahead.
The man sees his salvation and throws himself forward with his last ounce of strength, crashing to his knees before the mysterious figure.
P-please—help me! There's an Angel after me!
I've got money—lots of it! I'll pay you as much as you want, I swear!
Only after blurting out his plea and offer in one desperate breath does he finally muster the strength to look up at the figure before him.
Before him stands a woman of breathtaking beauty, her exquisite features veiled beneath ornate hair ornaments. An inscrutable smile curls her lips as she gazes down at the desperate man, studying him with the cold calculation of a merchant appraising wares.
The elegant woman holds a Moon Umbrella even though it's midnight, completely ignoring his frantic pleas. She parts her lips with languid grace, as though merely exchanging pleasantries during a casual evening walk.
Oh? And what exactly can you offer me in return?
Panic seizes the man as he frantically spills out increasingly desperate offers, trying to prove his worth with more money.
I'm the tax official of Whitehorse! All the town's wealth is mine! Whatever you want, I can give it to you!
I could... I could also adopt you as my daughter, then pass the tax official position down to you. Wouldn't that be amazing?
W-why won't you answer me?! I can make you rich! If I die, you won't get anything at all!
His final words carry a raw, undisguised threat. They are less negotiation and more the desperate warning of a man with nowhere left to run.
But the tall woman remains utterly unmoved. She simply leans down with deliberate slowness and, with inexorable certainty, pries the blood-soaked coin from his white-knuckled grip.
No need. I've already found something even better.
Guh-urgh—
Viscous blood erupts in a violent spray, and in the next instant, the pursuing Angel's blade pierces through the man's chest.
Only then does the woman raise her Moon Umbrella, driving it straight through the Angel's rotting skull in one powerful thrust.
The man lies writhing on the ground, eyes blazing with fury as he watches the woman's retreating figure. His gaze is a silent accusation: if you had the power to save us, why did you just stand there and do nothing?
...Why do you look so shocked? Oh, my dear <color=#ff4e4eff><b>father</b></color>, I'm simply returning the favor you and mother did for me all those years ago.
She continues to twirl the umbrella with elegant grace, as if the carnage strewn about has absolutely nothing to do with her.
You haven't forgotten about me, have you, Father? I'm that little girl, the one you left by the roadside as bait, the one who refused to die. Your precious Eleanor.
—!!
In his dying moments, the man struggles desperately to speak, but only more blood spills from his throat.
The memory comes flooding back. Over ten years ago, he and his wife had fled into these very same woods, just like today, with an enraged mob chasing them down.
But that day, they had brought their seven-year-old daughter along. After talking it over, he and his wife convinced themselves that the townspeople would never harm an innocent child, so they decided to abandon her by the roadside as bait, hoping to buy themselves precious time to escape.
Over the years, they'd occasionally think back to the little girl they'd abandoned, but after the Cataclysm turned the Scorched Borderland into this lawless wasteland, who could have possibly imagined she'd actually survived?
So don't trouble yourself any longer, Father. Eleanor has received your "gift"...
And she'll certainly live a better life than either of you ever could.
Eleanor carefully wipes every trace of blood from the gold coin and walks it away. She then strolls out of the forest with a spring in her step, the very same woods that had filled her childhood with endless nightmares.
But this time, she's the one walking away from the table with all the winnings.
As she walks away, she hums a cheerful little tune, the same lullaby her mother used to sing at her bedside when she was small.
<i>{226|153|170} Hey, Demon King—you did this to yourself. Hey, Mama—watch me now. I'm riding the Hellrail, ain't nothing can stop me now. {226|153|170} </i>
Swirling snow pellets drift onto her umbrella, and a barely noticeable chill quietly settles in the air around her.
Oh, my... It's snowing.
She lifts her hand and catches a flake of pure white that melts the instant it touches her palm.
I almost forgot. Tonight's Christmas Eve, after all...
Then she lifts her head toward the distant sky above and shows a smile of pure innocence.
Merry Christmas, Mom and Dad.
Lucky 38 Casino
Years Ago
Years Ago Lucky 38 Casino
The casino never sleeps. A constant din of voices and clinking chips fills the air around the clock. Gaming tables overflow with tightly packed crowds while waitstaff weave through the chaos, attending to the guests' endless demands.
Young Eleanor carefully navigates the crowded floor, one hand balancing a tray laden with champagne and hors d'oeuvres, the other lifting her skirt as she slips gracefully into an opulent private room.
Mr. Trout, your Galaxy Tears.
Just leave it here.
Without so much as glancing up from his cards, the man delivers his cold command.
...Yes, sir.
The hostess, in her cute dress, gracefully sets down the tray. After confirming the guest requires nothing more, she stays silent and prepares to leave the private room.
—Grumble.
But the enticing aroma of food filling the room, coupled with her stomach's involuntary growl, catches the guest's attention.
...
Under the guest's scrutinizing stare, she lowers her head in shame, hiding her flushed face beneath her hat brim as she stammers an explanation.
I'm sorry, Mr. Trout...
Don't worry about it. Though it seems your casino doesn't treat its hostesses particularly well.
The guest unexpectedly forgave her rudeness and instead turned a probing gaze toward the dealer across the table.
My deepest apologies, Mr. Trout. I'm afraid I don't have the answer. The casino has always treated its staff fairly.
Eleanor, did you not have a proper meal before your shift today?
The shrewd dealer smoothly deflects the problem, shifting the blame onto the girl instead.
I...
Eleanor fidgets with her skirt hem, eyes locked on the floor as though the ornate brown carpet might somehow yield the answer she desperately needs.
Never mind. No need to explain.
The man sweeps up the remaining cards from the table, then expertly weaves them into a flowing cascade between his fingers.
Do you know the card ranking rules?
Yes, sir. From highest to lowest: Jupiter, Metis, Themis...
Despite her nervousness, the girl reels off the terms with practiced fluency.
The man's brow furrows slightly, as if he's witnessed something truly unusual.
Did you go to school?
...
The girl falls silent again, realizing she's already said far too much.
Can't answer that question, either? Hmm... your casino certainly has a lot of rules...
Abandoning his attempts to probe the vigilant hostess, the man turns his attention back to the dealer, who seems far more at ease.
I'd like her to play as a temporary hand in the next round. That shouldn't be a problem, should it?
Of course, whatever you wish. But, Mr. Trout, why would you...
Call it a whim.
The man stops shuffling and slides the neatly arranged deck toward the girl.
What about you? Want to give it a try?
Sir, I...
Though the dealer's glare burns into her like he's trying to bore straight through her soul, Eleanor feels in her bones that this man's offer might be her one shot at changing everything.
She gives a resolute nod and reaches out to take the cards from his hands.
I'd be delighted.
None could have known that this night would mark the birth of a legend. It would be the rise of "Gambler Lilith," whose name would echo across the Scorched Borderland.
That grimy little street urchin, Eleanor, plucked from the gutter by the casino owner, revealed astonishing natural talent after just one lesson.
Within mere weeks, Eleanor, through sheer cleverness, managed to carve a piece of flesh from the nearly impenetrable casino…
...and became an exceptionally rare lucky victor.
The other hostesses who once sneered at her and starved her out of spite...
...now huddle around her table at every game, watching her every move with sheer fascination.
ALL IN.
Amid wild cheers, the girl across the table shoves all her chips into the pot once more, her bold move spurring the hostesses around her to follow suit with giddy excitement.
I'll follow Eleanor. I'm going all in too!
Me too, me too!
Seconds later, the cards were revealed. A tempting straight flush lay on the table like a fruit ripe for the picking.
Eleanor! You're amazing! You're like the goddess of luck herself here in Lucky 38!
Another wave of cheers erupts from the crowd as the petite girl finds herself smothered in hugs and kisses from the hostesses. Even the goddess of fortune herself couldn't ask for a more adoring reception.
Everyone, I should probably head out now...
Catching the dealer's sour expression from across the table, the girl stands on her tiptoes to collect her chips and signals that it's time for her to leave.
Don't go, Eleanor! We're all counting on you!
Yeah, yeah! Just stay a little longer!
I'm sorry, everyone, but I have other things I need to take care of...
Eleanor picks her words carefully, terrified of saying the wrong thing and losing the popularity she has earned with her older colleagues.
If I'm late for my shift, the supervisor will...
...Oh, then you'd better get going. We wouldn't want little Eleanor getting in trouble for being late to her night shift.
With the hostesses finally backing down, Eleanor hurries away like a prisoner being pardoned.
The moment Eleanor disappears, the dealer calmly swaps out the deck with practiced ease, sliding a fresh stack of specially marked cards from a hidden drawer beneath the table.
...Eleanor's been getting a little too bold for her own good lately.
In the empty hall after closing, the tired dealer strikes a match and lights an expensive hand-rolled incense.
Every penny Eleanor and her followers have won still belongs to Lucky 38, and the boss won't let them keep it.
But she won it all legitimately at the tables, didn't she?
Ha, and that's exactly why I say you muscular brutes don't understand the first thing about business.
He gives the incense a delicate flick with his slender fingers, sending ash drifting into a glass ashtray.
Sure, Lucky 38 lets employees run their own card games on the side, but ask yourself, why would they allow that?
You idiot! It's so the boss can watch the wages she pays out to be tossed right back into the endless games.
That way, these slaves can never break free. They're forever stuck serving customers here until the day they die.
Hah, so all that crap about "earning enough at the tables to buy your freedom" is just a lie?
Shh, you're being too blunt about it.
Mr. Trout taught her the art of cards on a whim, opening a door to new possibilities, but she wouldn't know then that luck's greatest gifts often carry the seeds of destruction.
When her world comes crashing down, will she regret ever laying eyes on that door?
The final embers die out in the ashtray as the dealer stands up, pulling on the coat he'd left draped across the cushions.
It won't be long before the boss sets her sights on Eleanor, demanding payment for all that "luck."
Bang!
Thick snowflakes drift down as the tiny girl is violently shoved out the door, her body slamming against the frozen ground.
I hereby declare that junior hostess Eleanor, found guilty of theft and cheating, is sentenced to complete forfeiture of assets and permanent exile from Lucky 38 Casino—
—No! I didn't!
Braving the vicious wind and biting snow, the girl struggles to raise her head, desperately pleading.
Everything I have, I earned fair and square at those tables! I played with honor! I never broke any rule!
But no one answers her pleas. Through the falling snow, only the hostesses' hushed gossip reaches her ears with painful clarity.
I knew something was up! How else could she all of a sudden start winning so much at the tables? Turns out she was cheating.
Ugh, ungrateful little parasite! We take her in, off the streets, and this is how she repays us? Even a stray dog would have the decency to wag its tail and beg.
I didn't... I really didn't...
Her voice grows fainter until it dies completely. The bitter truth finally hits her. She's completely alone.
Come on. I'd rather not have to drag you out of here.
The towering man steps forward and hauls her up from where she's slumped on the ground, then leans close to murmur in her ear.
Take this chance. You can still walk out in one piece.
...
Beyond the casino walls, the sun still shines in a clear blue sky, yet the air has turned bitterly cold. The girl trudges through snow-dusted streets, searching desperately for anything that might pass for shelter.
The crowds streaming past her are all headed for Lucky 38 Casino, their faces burning with barely contained hunger and anticipation. They are utterly bewitched by the town's seductive illusions. Each one is convinced they will be fortune's next darling.
E-Excuse me, ma'am... are you heading to Lucky 38 Casino by any chance?
Summoning what little courage she has left, the girl steps out from the sidewalk to approach a middle-aged woman with a gentle expression.
That's right. Judging by your outfit, you're one of the casino's hostesses?
Y-Yes, ma'am. If you wouldn't mind, I could serve as your guide.
I know every game in the casino inside and out—all the rules, the best betting strategies to maximize your winnings...
Suspicion clouds the woman's eyes, but Eleanor steels herself and pushes forward.
I won't ask for anything up front—just a small cut of whatever you win. That's all.
After she finishes, silence stretches between them. Eleanor keeps her head down, too afraid to meet the woman's gaze.
...I see. Let's find somewhere quiet to talk this through.
Finally, she agrees, but the woman immediately turns and walks off. Terrified she might change her mind, Eleanor hurries after her. After weaving through several streets, they duck into a narrow alley.
The cramped alley reeks of mold and decay. It's a world completely foreign to Eleanor's sheltered existence. Anxiety gnaws at her as she takes in the unfamiliar feeling.
Um, ma'am...
In an instant, the woman who had seemed so calm and gentle drops her mask, delivering a vicious kick that sends Eleanor sprawling.
Listen here, little girl. Don't think I'm some clueless mark. You're planning to help me cheat, then work with the house to shake me down, aren't you?
You really think you can fool me with such a cheap scam?
The woman shows no mercy. A sickly metallic taste floods Eleanor's mouth as pain shoots through her ribs, almost cracking under the force.
No, I wasn't! You've got it all wrong—
She throws her arms up desperately, but the woman keeps slamming her high heels onto Eleanor's back with vicious precision.
Still pretending to be innocent? So young and already rotten to the core. I'll teach you what happens when you—
Her voice stops suddenly as a bright flash erupts with a deafening blast, and a copper round turns her head into bloody pulp.
Looking up, she spots another man lurking in the alley's depths, casually lowering his shotgun with a whistle.
Bingo! One fat sheep from out of town, plus a little stray from the casino.
The thug ignores the girl who's frozen solid with terror and crouches down to look through the woman's corpse for Mammon coins.
Tch, that's all? Hardly worth the bullet.
Half a minute later, he stands up, clutching his only prize—a Black Card—and gives the corpse a hard kick.
Only went for you 'cause of that fancy getup, but you're just another broke gambler living on credit. Worthless.
—Don't go!!
Faced with this gruesome scene, everything she once believed about the world crumbles. She doesn't understand why she's doing it, but pure instinct drives her to grab desperately at the gangster's pant leg.
Mister, you saved my life and I'm grateful, but—
So what? Little girl, you don't actually think I shot her to save you, do you?
Eleanor's eyes widen.
Oh, but you've given me an idea. You might actually be useful after all...
The man pulls a beat-up communicator from his pocket and presses the red transmit button in front of Eleanor.
Hey, is this the Security Bureau? I found a body over on West Street.
Suspect? I didn't see her clearly, but she looked like some kid who sneaked out of the casino...
When Eleanor comes to her senses, she's already running frantically down the street.
She has no memory of leaving that alley, and her feet hurt from running for so long, but an overwhelming sense of terror pursues her from behind, urging her to flee that place reeking of blood and death.
Ugh—!
Running too frantically, she stumbles and falls hard, scraping her knee into a bloody mess.
The girl from the casino. It's her!
Chilling voices continue to pursue her relentlessly from behind. She has no time to check her wound and scrambles back to her feet, running frantically forward.
Stop her, stop her!!
People who had ignored her now rush toward her from all directions. One security officer raises his gun and puts his finger on the trigger—
!
In a split second, instinct sends her diving behind another man just as the bullet whistles past, so close it parts her hair—
W-what...?
Eek! Somebody's been killed!!!
...?
Something warm and sticky splashes across her cheek. She frantically wipes her face, but the crimson stain won't come off.
S-sorry.
She starts to apologize, but the man just topples over like a felled tree, crashing into the muddy street.
I... I'm not...
No one cares what the "criminal" has to say. The crowd explodes into chaos once again.
The world around Eleanor seems filthy and loud, and in her daze, she feels like she has returned to the forest where she was separated from her parents.
Terror crushes down on her chest, but she grits her teeth and forces herself to run.
She went into that alley. Go after her!
As she runs, Eleanor's vision blurs with moisture. She reaches up to wipe her eyes.
Not... blood?
In the dark alley, teardrops fall and disappear into the cold, indifferent world.
I am... crying?
Why?
She didn't even cry the day her parents abandoned her.
...Why is all of this happening to me?
Why... why do this to me...?
Her thoughts remain a tangled mess as she struggles to understand this sudden surge of grief.
She turns into the wind, letting tears roll down her face as the last thread of composure she's fought so hard to maintain finally snaps. She can't hold back anymore. Her mouth opens and she breaks into raw, uncontrolled sobs.
Sob—sob—sob—AAAAHHH—!
Why, Supreme Heaven... Haven't I suffered enough...?
How long... just how long will fate keep toying with me?!
Her heart-wrenching wail echoes through the dark alley.
Heavy snow continues to fall, covering her footprints and bloodstains, silently becoming her only companion in this unforgiving city.
DING-DONG—
In the distance, the cathedral bells toll. Their deep, resonant chimes flow across the entire city.
Daily prayers begin, and the girl's hoarse sobs are swallowed by the cathedral's majestic chimes.
Yes, here in the Scorched Borderland, the strong always devour the weak. Those with power and influence can return to the table again and again, while the powerless vanish without a trace after their final, desperate gamble.
Eleanor is starving. She grabs a handful of snow, shoves it into her mouth, and gnaws on the bitter truth of this predatory world. Why is she always the one getting trampled? Why do others always steal her few remaining cards?
Looks like no one will let me live...
The Sanctuary's scriptures all say that snow is Judgment descending from the Supreme Heaven to the mortal world.
The girl continues running forward, letting Judgment fall upon her.
Then I'll claw my way to the table and live better than all of you!
She murmurs to herself, a wicked smile slowly creeping across her face.
At the Sanctuary Game
Back to the present
Back to the present At the Sanctuary Game
The dealer lifts an exquisitely crafted gold coin from the gilded gaming table and places it at the center of the "Alchemy Matrix."
Until the game ends, all stakes will be guarded by this matrix and impervious to any outside interference. Not even the Supreme Heaven itself could break these cage walls.
For centuries, the people of the Scorched Borderland have depended on this demonic array to keep their gambling games honest.
...Lilith? Now that's quite the alias, filled with contempt for the Sanctuary.
The Archangel seated across the table gives an amused smile, as if accepting this utterly blasphemous choice of name.
But Madam Raphael, all you really care about are the stakes I've brought, right?
The challenger leans against her cushion, lazily swirling her champagne with cynical amusement, knowing full well the Archangel has no choice but to accept her terms.
Indeed, you've brought the key to Mammon's treasure vault. With Mammon's throne vacant all these years, you certainly qualify to sit across from me.
Now you can name your terms. What are you trying to win?
My request is quite reasonable. Since you're so generous in giving my father Whitehorse, I'll simply take five times what he's receiving.
The lady in white holds up five fingers with a flourish, her ambition laid bare in the simple gesture.
I want to be a tax collector for an entire state.
Quite the ambitious request.
Raphael's face remains unreadable, giving no hint whether Eleanor's demand is trivial or troublesome.
I accept your terms, but you do know the rules of the Sanctuary game, don't you?
Of course I do. Lose, and my soul belongs to the Angel.
She licks her champagne-wet lips with obvious excitement.
I'm not some coward who can't take a loss.
Madam Raphael gives a nod. The silent dealer standing nearby activates the Alchemy Matrix. With terms settled, the game begins.
The Archangel picks up her cards from the table, barely glances at what she's holding, and makes her call.
Bet.
Call.
The lady in white refuses to yield, staying locked onto her opponent like a predator.
Oh, there's no need to put on such an aggressive show.
I'll give you plenty of time to think it over.
Madam Raphael, I've been playing this game since I was seven years old.
She laughs with theatrical flair, making zero effort to hide her arrogance.
There's no doubt I'm the best card player in all the Scorched Borderland.
You're absolutely right. Why would I be worried about the world-famous, legendary, undefeated Gambler Lilith?
Madam Raphael gives a noncommittal smile and casually plays her next card.
Miss Lilith takes the round.
As the result is announced, Lilith shoots her opponent a triumphant look.
Next round.
Ignoring the provocation, Madam Raphael simply continues to calmly oversee the game's progress.
Time crawls by, and the tension at the card table reaches an intense level.
After several heated exchanges, both Madam Raphael and Lilith are down to their last chip.
Yet both maintain their calm smiles, as if this next round isn't going to seal someone's fate but is merely some casual game.
The final round reaches its decisive moment, and Lilith smiles as she reveals the card she's casually placed before her.
—Oh, my?
She can't help herself and lets out a sly chuckle.
Not that anyone could blame her for losing her composure. It's a gleaming ace of hearts. What could possibly be better?
My apologies, Madam Raphael, but it looks like I've won—
Just as she's about to raise her hand to show off her winning card, her stomach suddenly seizes, and a sharp, unfamiliar pain tears through her body.
Lilith looks down and sees crimson blooming across her abdomen.
...Huh?
The lady maintains her pose, gracefully expressing her bewilderment at the dealer who just shot her.
She's hardly surprised that this Archangel would break her word, but the Alchemy Matrix can't be unlocked even by the Supreme Heaven. If she dies, that gold coin will be lost forever.
...I thought you Angels would value the "Key of Mammon" more than this.
I do value the "Key of Mammon," make no mistake... It's just that what you put in that matrix was a fake from the start.
Madam Raphael drifts through the lingering gunsmoke and slides that familiar gold coin to the center of the table.
What a coincidence. Just days ago, I happened to get a replica infused with Mammon's power from a "special channel," and you show up at my doorstep today.
Looks like even the Alchemy Matrix can't tell a genuine artifact of the Golden King from a clever fake.
How dare you—!
For the first time, fury twists her delicate features, not from the defeat, but from the betrayal of cheating at what should have been a sacred game.
So this whole Sanctuary game was just a trap wrapped in pretty lies! You Angels can't even follow the rules set by yourselves?!
Why should I follow rules when dealing with you pathetic humans? You're nothing but animals.
While speaking, Madam Raphael slips the Key of Mammon away and moves toward the private room's door.
She tugs her hat brim low and takes one last look at her opponent, now slumped helplessly in the chair.
Don't deceive yourself. Mammon's treasure always belonged to the Sanctuary. You never had any right to bargain with me to begin with.
You...!
Before her angry protest can escape, another figure steps from the shadows and silences her with a firm hand over her mouth.
Clean it up.
The order comes swiftly and sharply, and scissors plunge deep into her chest without hesitation.
The silent dealer knows that his master hates noise, so his grip locks around Lilith's throat, letting nothing escape but blood.
Ugh—!
But Lilith fights on, desperate to release the rage burning in her chest. She refuses to go quietly, and she won't die like some nameless dog in a dark corner.
Mmmmph—!
Her bloodshot eyes snap open, burning with hatred as they track Raphael's retreating figure, while the vilest curses writhe unspoken in her crushed throat.
Arrgh!
She tears off a chunk of flesh from the dealer's palm with her teeth, forcing him to jerk his hand away in agony.
Still going even at death's door. Damn this mad girl!
The man's rage boils over. He grabs a heavy vase and smashes it down on the back of her head.
This time, she can't fight back. Her consciousness has slipped away, and her body sags to the floor in defeat.
As death approaches, she dreams of her parents once more.
Just like the day she was abandoned in the woods, dense snowflakes drift down like goose feathers. She is holding a gold coin in her hand and walking barefoot along an endless path of snow.
Before leaving her behind, her mother presses one last gold coin into her hand.
"There, now you can't say we didn't take care of you. Whether you make it or not is your problem now."
After walking for what feels like forever, she reaches a towering tree and stops beneath its roots.
...
Two corpses huddle together against the tree trunk, fingers intertwined, a glittering gold coin clutched within their palms.
Hey, you two may be pathetic bastards...
She kneels down and tenderly brushes the fine snow from their hair.
But tell me, is giving your life over a single gold coin really worth it?
...
The dead don't answer, of course. Frustrated, she gets back to her feet and kicks a mound of snow aside.
Though I suppose in the end, I turned out just like you.
If you were still alive, you'd be laughing at me, too.
Snowflakes keep falling. She spreads her arms wide, taking elegant steps through the snow as she spins in circles.
Hmm-hmm-hmm...
An elegant melody echoes through the forest as she hums softly, singing a hymn to her own approaching death.
They say that before you die, your whole life flashes before your eyes. If her life were nothing but one long snowfall, that wouldn't have been so terrible.
Ah... but I really would like to see it, just once.
She dances until her strength gives out, then lets her arms fall and collapses into the snow, gazing up at the pale moon hanging in the sky. It's a sight that hasn't graced the Scorched Borderland since the Cataclysm.
The moon in the real world... is this what it actually looks like?
An unfamiliar voice responds from nearby, and she lifts her head.
Somehow, the great tree behind her has vanished, replaced by a figure in a gray-black cloak walking toward her through the snow.
She has never seen this person before, nor does she understand why they would appear in her dream, so once again she puts on her mask and smiles back.
Good evening. Is there anything I can help you with?
But her companion has turned the tables on her, and this isn't the rhythm she's used to.
Well... Simply put, I was tricked by Angels.
She continues to smile gracefully, seamlessly steering the conversation back under her control.
I've never done anything wrong in my entire life, so I can't imagine why Madam Raphael would pass such a harsh judgment on me...
Maybe it's because I caught her cheating at the "Sanctuary Game," so she had to silence me?
Lies come to her as naturally as breathing, an ingrained habit in how she navigates life, one she can't let go of even in death.
The gray-cloaked figure falls silent, as if sifting through the truth and lies mixed in her words.
But I'll be dead soon enough anyway, so I guess this secret really will go to my grave. No one will ever find out now... haha...
Unexpectedly, the person takes the bait.
How exactly can you help me? You can't just have me bolt upright in my coffin like some dead Cardinal Deity, can you?
The ridiculous image makes her laugh despite herself.
In this situation, even what seemed like a ridiculous fantasy demands her serious consideration.
...What's the catch?
The creature from legend that drives around in a hellish train, grabbing people and kicking them into the Acheron River?
...Haha.
Lilith laughs again, but this time, it's from pure excitement.
She knows the person trusts her words about as much as she trusts theirs, but that doesn't matter. What she's offering is too valuable to turn down.
She thought this was where her story would end, but it turns out she's still worth saving, even from the brink of death.
Just goes to show that you never know what ace someone's been hiding until the final hand.
An unstoppable rush of adrenaline surges through Lilith. She pushes herself up from the snow and faces the figure, head held high.
Deal.
You do it!
The figure leans down and reaches into the gaping, bloody wound in her chest.
Crimson threads burst from the wound, spiraling upward and weaving themselves into gleaming silk that cocoons them both.
...It hurts. It hurts!
Through the bone-deep agony, she laughs with wild defiance and seizes the figure's wrist.
Hey, if this leaves permanent scars, what exactly are you gonna do about it?
The figure ignores her question entirely, only continuing to probe deeper into the crimson void.
Gray Raven.
At the heart of the swirling crimson chaos, you close your grip around her thirty-five-gram soul.
In the next instant, an unstoppable flood of demonic energy tears through her, remaking her entirely.
Aaaaah—!
Heavy snow swirls endlessly through the air, the howling winds threatening to swallow her anguished screams.
But still she roars, determined that all three realms will hear her voice, and that they'll know she's no mangy dog dying forgotten in a web of deceit.
She, the unbeaten card player of the Scorched Borderland, master gambler, the con artist who could fool the world itself, has clawed her way back from the depths of hell.
No one will ever silence her again.
The figure releases her chest, and the newly reborn Horseman rises from the snow-covered wasteland, steadying herself with her Moon Umbrella.
An endless hunger rages within her, screaming for her to devour everything in sight.
From that moment forward, an insatiable hunger was planted deep within the Demon's heart. It's an appetite that could never be satisfied.
The umbrella spins with grace, forming a crimson shield that deflects the falling ice crystals.
Win big or lose everything. That's all there is when the stakes are real...
So tell me, Bloodsworn, are you ready to bet it all?
Go! I grant you the <color=#ff4e4eff>power</color> to deceive and overturn the world itself—
And slice through every moment with the cards you hold.
<size=55>Until every Angel tastes the sweet poison of your lies.</size>
<size=55>The endless blizzard continues to drive snow between their chattering teeth.</size>
