Mikasa watched silently. In the distance, a group of people shouted, begging for mercy. But there was no mercy. The one who called himself God punished them for no clear reason, just for the simple whim of boredom. Divine sparks rained down on their bodies, twisting them, making them burn, scream, disappear.
She did not look away. Nor did she feel compassion. Her lips curled slightly, not out of pity, but out of acceptance.
"Who said a god had to be kind?" she thought coldly, as if that idea had been born and aged in her mind long ago.
An almost imperceptible tingling ran down her back. Something inside her vibrated, like a distant echo resonating in a forgotten cave. She was not aware of it, but that strange fruit, the one she had looked at with curiosity before, was beginning to leave a faint trace inside her.
In her mind, a deformed and absurd figure stood before God. It was like rubber: it stretched, inflated, contracted, and stretched again, defying all logic. And then, it defeated God, crushing him with its "peculiarity." The one who called himself God lost.
Mikasa narrowed her eyes. The vision faded like smoke, but one word remained imprinted in her mind, heavy as lead.
"Pathetic."
That thought was not hers. Or at least she did not feel it as such. Even so, she did not reject it. A defeated god is not a god. It cannot be.
Inside her, thoughts, emotions, and sensations mingled like ingredients thrown randomly into a boiling pot. There was disdain, there was fascination, and there was a strange, almost childlike sweetness that gently caressed her senses.
She blinked.
The vision disappeared. The sound returned. The light returned. Her eyes met Matt's. He looked at her with a mixture of surprise, interest, and something else more difficult to read.
She opened her eyes, as if she had just awakened from a dream. She looked at Matt once more, her mind still remembering that God, his senseless punishments, his absurd defeat.
"No..." she thought, lowering her gaze for a moment and then raising it decisively.
The man she had witnessed before was not God, the real God was standing in front of her. Matt.
Her lips curved slowly. A smile appeared on her face, a smile that contained faith, surrender, understanding. She had understood. Or so she believed. She understood the world, dhe understood her purpose.
"Sir Matt... could I have that fruit?" she said, raising her hand to point at it. The blue fruit sparkled slightly as if electricity were running across its skin. Her voice was soft, pleading, tinged with unexpected devotion.
Matt turned his face and followed her gaze. He turned to the fruit, picked it up carefully, and placed it on the counter between them.
"Devil fruit," he thought to himself, smiling slightly as he ran a finger over the vibrant skin.
"Thunder fruit," he said aloud. "Its origin is unknown. It can grant thunder-related abilities to those who consume it... although its taste, well, is more suited to unusual palates."
His eyes returned to Mikasa, he scanned her from head to toe. Her clothes, though clean, showed signs of extreme wear, patched seams, fabric almost transparent at the elbows.
"Will this girl be able to pay the two thousand gold coins this fruit costs?" he wondered silently, tilting his head.
Mikasa stared at him, her eyes large and bright, full of hope. She pursed her lips in a tender, almost childlike pout, as if her expression could open doors that her pocket couldn't.
Matt let out a low laugh.
"Hehehe... is this girl trying to trick me?" he muttered. He reached out and gently ruffled Mikasa's hair with his fingers, playfully, his eyes shining with a warm gleam.
"Who wants the lightning fruit?" he intoned, as if talking to a child about to receive a sweet treat, "Who wants the lightning fruit?"
Mikasa didn't pull away. On the contrary, her eyes closed gently under his caress. She swallowed.
"I, I... Mikasa wants it..." she murmured, almost voicelessly, clinging to Matt's kindness like a rope in the middle of an abyss.
"Good, good. Then the fruit is yours," Matt said with a smile, pushing a small box toward her.
"Really...?" Armin barely whispered, unable to help himself. His eyes shifted from Mikasa to Matt, and his friend's smile grew wider, more vivid.
"..." Armin looks at Matt with a cautious look for some reason.
In the Tomb of Nazarick
Ainz's footsteps echoed softly and measuredly on the polished marble of the main hall. In front of him, Albedo stood with her back straight, her hair waving slightly in the magical current of the place, her eyes fixed on her master. The air smelled of arcane incense, mixed with the subtle essence of absolute power.
Although Hiyama had attacked unexpectedly, the consequences were minimal. Albedo, with a slight grimace of annoyance, stood up after kneeling for a while. A thin crack ran along the bottom of her armor, but her expression showed no pain, only a slight discomfort, like someone remembering a stone in their shoe.
"Conclusions?" asked Ainz, his deep voice filling the space like a deep echo.
She pretended to clear her throat, an unnecessary pause for someone like her, but one laden with theatricality.
"We sent level fifty ghosts to inspect the area. They have brought back data that may be of interest to my lord."
Her lips curved into a barely visible, venomous smile.
"The village was within a human kingdom called Re-Estize. Its military strength is... ridiculous," she said with disdain, as if even mentioning the kingdom was a waste of time.
Then she bowed her head slightly.
"We found no other humans with characteristics similar to the one we faced, I believe that being was unique... or extremely rare. In any case, its power is not worthy of our concern," Albedo said.
Ainz briefly recalled Hiyama's attack. The impact had not been strong, but it had been unusual.
"We also found no trace of the attacker, we may need more time, there are other realms around Re-Estize, some even stranger" Albedo looks at her lord, her eyes full of devotion and love, sought Ainz's reaction.
The silence that followed was not uncomfortable, Ainz was meditating, his metal fingers drummed on the throne, the memory of the attack ran through his mind like a mathematical calculation.
Level seventy, maybe eighty, he concluded internally. It was not comparable to Albedo or the guardians of Nazarick, but still, an anomaly.
"If there are more like him..." Ainz muttered to himself, barely audible, "Battle will be inevitable."
The idea clung to his mind like a parasite. In YGGDRASIL, Nazarick had been a dark beacon that many players tried to wipe off the map. Would this new world be any different?
His thoughts grew heavier, the memory of his former companions blurred and distant, Demiurge still offered brilliant ideas, but the throne weighed heavier when held alone.
Days later, in Paradis.
The air was thick with dust and memories. The sun fell pale on battered houses and broken walls, like open scars.
Levi walked steadily along the cracked road, st his side, Erwin walked silently, his gaze fixed on the horizon.
"The Maria Wall used to be a beautiful place," Levi murmured, barely moving his lips.
A light breeze ruffled his hair. His hand went to the hilt of the sword at his waist. A slight tremor ran through him and a dark shadow covered the blade. His haki awakened just remembering it.
The desire for revenge still burned, more tempered, but more lethal.
"Do you think that idiot Fritz can still stop us?"Levi asked without looking at Erwin.
The commander did not respond immediately, he placed a firm hand on his comrade's shoulder, he had seen what Levi could do. Ogres split in two with a single blow, screams silenced by bursts of pure force. But the Titans... were another story, or at least he thinks so
"Fritz is still the king, If he dies, chaos could devour everything," Erwin warned.
Levi snorted in annoyance, he pointed his finger at a pile of rubble, a moment later, an invisible shot pierced the stone and left a deep hole.
"Better than a gun," he whispered, satisfied.
Meanwhile, in Matt's store...
"Hehehe..." His laughter was tense, almost automatic.
His fingers played with the spoon, the steaming plate in front of him was perfect: golden meat, intense spices, rice cooked to perfection. But something inside him didn't fit. Every bite he didn't take was an unanswered question.
"Why do I feel this way?" Matt asked himself silently, anxiety running down his back like a drop of cold sweat.
He looked to his side. Ninya, dressed in a pink suit, leaned against his shoulder with a serene, even sweet expression. Her hair grew longer every day, her gestures more delicate, her laughter softer. Matt didn't know exactly when she had started living with him, but now her smell were on the second floor, as if they had always been there.
The air grew heavy.
"Is this what I wanted...?" he thought, his lips tight.
He had spent years crying out for a partner, a partner to share joys with, to lift him up on bad days, to laugh and cry with by his side.
And now that he had her...
The spoon fell silently from his hand, his gaze was lost in the steam rising from the food, his thoughts were muffled cries.
"Did I idealize all this...? Is this love or just... decorated loneliness?"
A tear slid down his cheek without permission, he didn't notice it.
He only knew that, for some reason, the happiness he had longed for so much... now suffocated him.
A pretty girl by my side? I've got her. A girl who's very feminine, cooks, and is always willing to do it? I've got her. So, why?
Matt narrows his eyes. Was it because all this happened in the course of about a week? Was there a lack of romance?
He doesn't believe it, yet he can't disguise the feelings overwhelming his heart at this moment. In his mind, Matt smiles slightly. "Maybe men are more sentimental than we always think," he murmurs.