Angra Maria

The vortex of evil rose like a waterspout and settled into the girl. Revealing in full the bottom of that sheerly deep, dark abyss at the center of the 9th Deep Layer End-Processing Zone.
Even after the vortex of evil disappeared, there was nothing there but darkness. It was so deep, so deep, you couldn’t even dare to measure the depth of its bottom.

“This situation…… doesn’t look like a plan put together in a day or two.”

And the evil that filled that abyss began filling the slender, small body of a mere girl instead.

“Well, for both of us, what we have left is ‘overflowing years,’ isn’t it.”

Vlad Țepeș, the immortal vampire, sneered.

“—Not yet.”

At that moment, Evangelist Gunter moved.

“Do you think I’d let a new seed of evil bloom?”

Without hesitation, the hammer swung toward her again. Kwaang! A blow wrapped in holy radiance.

“He’s right. The chance to stop the blooming flower is now.”

What blocked that blow again was Chairman Vlad Țepeș’s hand.

“That’s why I’m here.”

A Vampire Lord and a curator of the Black Museum, showing without restraint the strength befitting that name.

The holy hammer and the vampire’s hand collided. It wasn’t a simple clash. An absurd shockwave swept out, enough to make the whole area tremble. That alone was enough to understand what the collision of power between the two meant.
Blocking it with a hand didn’t necessarily mean he had leeway. If anything, a vampire’s hand itself was the strongest weapon imaginable.

“Truly, truly chilling to the bone…….”

So just as Vlad Țepeș frowned in the midst of the clash.

“Hehe, shouldn’t we start moving too?”

Adina, the polite dark elf medium, spoke. Toward the monocled elf fortune-teller in a business suit at her side.

“The work we have to do as Shaman Priestesses of the Lake.”
“……”

At that, Yuria frowned silently, and even so, she quietly reached out her arm.

“I wanted to avoid physical labor, as much as possible.”

As if there was truly no helping it.

“……!”

Only then could Solomon understand. That her epithet, Shaman Priestess of the Lake, was no empty name. And that it didn’t stop at prattling about other people’s futures from a room somewhere.

Challang.
A sound rang out. A clear, beautiful sound made by pure ripples surging. Only the sound was beautiful. The form made as waves and storms surged from her fingertips and spread as if self-replicating was nothing of the sort.

When he realized it, there was a figure rising from a lake that shouldn’t exist.
It was the shape of a dragon.

A Water Dragon.

The dragon roared. Not one with scales, or of flesh and blood and bone, but a dragon’s shape made only of liquid.

“……!”

Right after, the Water Dragon’s mouth breathed toward the Angra Mainyu vortex that should have been absorbed into Marie Molesworth.

“Aaaaaaah!”

A ruinous torrent that swallowed the area. When that torrent coiled around and invaded the vortex of evil, Marie Molesworth, who had not yet finished the rite, screamed in pain.

“……!”

Just as Vlad Țepeș turned his head too late at that sight.

“Where are you looking?”

Once again, the gospel carved into bones rang out. As if it would never allow it. Even then, the Water Dragon under Yuria’s control moved toward Marie Molesworth, who had to complete the rite. Along with the breath it spewed from its mouth, it swept its sharp claws.

That was when it happened.

Koong.
A sound rang out. The sound of a cane striking the ground.
With that one sound, the Water Dragon’s torrent stopped.

“Oh, well then…….”

A relaxed voice that rang low and slow. The voice, not one you could call loud, swallowed the Water Dragon’s roar that should have filled the place.
Right after, a tiny dot, a wretch so small and vile you had to call it that, landed on the Water Dragon’s back. A fly, so small and trivial no one noticed.

When that fly landed on the Water Dragon’s back and began rubbing its forelegs together.

“……!”

Yuria twisted as if in pain. The Water Dragon, which should have thrashed like a living dragon, began rotting from the point the fly touched, rapidly turning into black, dark filthy water. As clear water was reborn as sewage, the Water Dragon too fell into becoming a ‘dragon of sewage.’

Kooong.
Once again, the cane boomed against the ground.
Before he knew it, from the edge of his vision, through the swarming cloud of flies, an old gentleman in a black suit walked out, leaning on a cane.

The king of hell and demon of gluttony, the Lord of Flies.

“Beelzebub……!”
“I can’t exactly pretend I didn’t see my comrades.”

Before Solomon even had time to say the name, Yuria whispered. The flies that should have been circling Beelzebuth, strictly speaking swarms of unknown black insects you couldn’t even call flies, began surging toward her and the rest of Solomon’s party, forming a pitch-black vortex.
Like billions of locusts running rampant. It was practically a Plague of Egypt.¹

“……!”

Crack, crack. Just then, black frost settled at the feet of Solomon, Yuria, and the others, and began to bloom.
The frost that bloomed at their feet spread out toward the approaching swarm of flies as it scattered.

─ By the way, even if I look like this, I do hold grudges.

Freezing the entire approaching swarm into pitch-black crystals, the evil spirit who had come up beside Solomon whispered, still possessing Marie Molesworth’s former body.

─ Do I still look like a ‘bat bastard’ that clings here and there to feed?
“Seems like there’s a misunderstanding.”

Solomon answered flatly.

“I just meant it as business between unparalleled professionals.”
─ Oh my, is that so?

The Maiden of June, Blanc of Black Snow, laughed.

─ Well, I’m moved to tears, you bat bastard.
“……Right back at you, you bat bastard.”

Freezing the army of flies that should have swallowed them into ice. Two close bats traded pleasantries. That was when it happened.

Amid the standoff where the hotel’s monsters faced Beelzebub, Vlad Țepeș, and the Black Museum’s monsters, he finally moved. The one who should be called the hotel’s strongest blade.

A 14th-floor hotel guest and Rogue Master, the Faceless One.

“……!”

When he realized it, the Faceless One was behind Marie Molesworth, the girl performing the rite. Toward the being sprouting a bud to be reborn as a God Spawn.
The hotel’s strongest assassin drove the tip of the blade down.

A blade of deep black, darker than anything.

Kwachik!
A sound rang out. The sound of the Faceless One’s sneak attack, his Black Sword, piercing the target. He could sense it the moment he saw it. No matter what anyone said about Marie Molesworth being a God Spawn, it meant nothing before that faceless sneak attack.

There was clearly a death she could not avoid, right there.
It had to be.

Kaaang!
After that sound came a metallic ring, so clear and transparent it rang out.

─ It seems that nothing has changed, my brother.
“!”

Brother. With that word, there was a silhouette blocking the space between Marie Molesworth and the Faceless One.
Appearing like a flash of lightning, scattering white radiance so bright you couldn’t keep your eyes open in every direction.

─ That too, how for your purpose you’re more cowardly, more vile, and never hesitate to use every dirty trick.

It was a pure-white…… silhouette. Radiance overflowed from his very existence like a morning star, a silver-haired handsome man armed with armor and a shield like a gladiator of ancient Rome. And what he held was only a shield. No sword. An armament that existed only to protect.
That pure-white shield blocked and knocked away the Rogue Master’s Black Sword. Black and white crossed.

─ Are you still believing in Father’s answer with no promise of coming, my pitiful little brother?

Little brother. Only then, for the first time, something you could call ‘emotion’ rose on the Faceless One’s face.

“Brother Lucifer…….”

The Faceless One whispered softly. Lucifer. A name there was no way not to recognize.

“How did you fall from the heavens? Shining Star, Son of Dawn.”

The Faceless One whispered coldly. Before the pure-white man who had just blocked his strike.

─ Because the world needs a god that answers.

The man armed with pure-white armor and a shield spoke. A voice of boundless mercy. Just hearing that voice, it held a charisma that made you feel like you’d kneel before that mercy. And that was truly the case.
Vlad Țepeș and Beelzebub, too, were silently paying him respect.
He could understand it instinctively.

That man, that silver-haired man armed with overflowing mercy and pure white, was the head of that society of evil, that organization of demons, the Black Museum.
The pinnacle of evil at the highest seat held, paradoxically, the brightest pure white and mercy. Even his arms existed not to harm someone, but in a form that existed to protect.

─ A beautiful flower has bloomed.

Gulleong.
At last, the seed of evil bloomed. The rite to bring down the child of god (God Spawn), Ishtar Spawn, ended. By now, all the filthy evil of this city had been absorbed into Marie Molesworth.
Through the process that had to be undergone within the three witnesses and their offerings, gold, frankincense, and myrrh.

─ Our new family has been born here.

Lucifer, the man holding pure-white armor and a shield, spoke.

─ A hand that will answer the prayer of a pitiful mortal, a hand that does not stay silent.
“……”
─ See you again, my beloved little brother.

With those words, his figure vanished like a flash. After he disappeared, only a few strands of pure-white feathers remained, floating as they drifted down. Elegant and refined.

And there, no longer was the weak, pitiful saintess, Marie Molesworth.
There was only the Messiah of Evil, worthy of the name 「Angra Mainyu」.

“Revere it, for a new comrade has been born here.”

Chairman Vlad Țepeș, a fellow Black Museum curator and chairman of Wallachia Co., bowed deeply in an exaggerated salute. Beelzebub, too, offered a silent bow, leaning on his cane.

“A new life must always be given a new name.”

Vlad Țepeș spoke. Marie Molesworth answered with a smile. Like shedding an old skin.

“Maria.”

An unmistakable symbol of the Holy Mother.

“—Angra Maria.”
“Très bien!!”

At that name, Vlad Țepeș couldn’t contain his trembling awe and raised the sound of applause. A cold silence fell. The Messiah of Absolute Evil. And that messiah bore the names of evil and the Holy Mother. There was no Marie, no Molesworth.

Angra Maria. The messiah who atoned for this city’s evil, and the Black Museum’s new curator, was there.