Omake (of an Omake) – Outside Perspectives (AKA, I Got Bored)
Yomotsu Hirasaka
Path 9
I AM MERELY TRYING—TO GRANT THE WISHES OF HUMANITY—
“NOT MY HUMAN, YOU’RE NOT!”
“. . . So, let me get this straight,” Kanji said uncertainly, not sure he wasn’t hallucinating due to a concussion. “He finally awakened a Persona—without having to go through all that ‘facing your Shadow’ stuff—and it somehow ended up possessing Rise-chan?”
“Yup,” Yosuke said. “Then she went all Super Saiyan and started beating on that thing calling itself ‘Izanami’ like it insulted her idol career, her fashion sense and her weight all in the same breath.”
Eldritch screams of agony punctuated the truth of that statement.
“That’s . . .” Naoto hesitated a beat, before continuing, “a colourful summation, but not entirely inaccurate.” She paused to consider the scene. “Also, I somehow find it strangely cathartic watching a girl of Rise’s age and build so thoroughly prove to be the superior combatant—”
An oddly crystalline tinkling heralded the sudden appearance of a Tyrannosaurus rex skeleton erupting from the ground—and all those who witnessed the subsequent chomping couldn’t help but compare it to the ringing of a dinner bell. The addition of a Triceratops skeleton to impale the eldritch abomination like an errant piece of sushi only heightened the resemblance.
“—Even though I can’t even theoretically explain what’s going on any longer, never mind rationally doing so,” she finished flatly, a defeated look on her face.
“That’s easy, Naoto—it’s called ‘girl power for the WIN!’” Chie cheered. She jumped in place, fists waving excitedly. “GO, RISE-CHAN! KICK ITS ASS!”
“My, my,” Ereshkigal said in a tone like poisoned honey, and all the more unnerving coming out with Rise’s natural cheerfulness. “I do believe that humanity just MADE A WISH . . . !”
“So!” Yosuke said brightly, turning away from the increasingly graphic carnage (and even more graphic and enthusiastic descriptions of oncoming carnage), “I’m terrified of Rise-chan in a whole new way, now—and should we be worried? I mean, what’s she liable to do, exactly, once she’s finished with . . .?”
He waved in that direction without looking back—the sounds were bad enough, and the screams were only half the problem.
“When she’s finished,” he repeated lamely.
“To you, probably nothing,” Frid assured him. “Now me, on the other hand . . .”
“Um, I have a question . . .” Yukiko said shyly.
“Just ONE?” thought more than one member of the team.
“Yes, Amagi-san?”
Yukiko blinked, taken aback. “Amagi—?”
“Her hearing is better than you’d think, even occupied as she is,” Frid said bluntly. “And while Ereshkigal’s normally admirably rational and even-handed, she’s feeling possessive right now. I’d rather not give her a reason, however spurious, to even think you’re a threat.”
Yukiko went an impressive shade of pale for a Japanese girl; she resembled a porcelain doll.
“Yeah,” the Exalt said with a grimace. “In any case, go ahead and ask your question.”
“Oh!” Yukiko blinked, visibly startled. “. . . Uh, right.” She hesitated a moment, and then said, “If you had a Persona this powerful, why didn’t you use it before now? It looks like you could’ve ended all this months ago, going by . . . Well, that.”
“Because as you might’ve guessed, Ereshkigal isn’t actually a Persona, and she’s not ‘mine,’ exactly—though I’m certainly hers . . .”
“YOU HEAR THAT, YOU MISERABLE PILE OF—?!”
“. . . Wow, either Rise’s exerting more influence than I thought, or she was holding herself back a lot before in order to appear dignified.” After a beat, Frid cleared his throat. “OK, you’ve noticed that your Personas tend to manifest as mythological figures, right? And that those manifestations are described as a ‘summons?’ She hijacked mine in order to appear like this—probably under the loophole that she’s been allowed to do something similar before—but even so, she needed a compatible host to sync with; it’s a different way of restraining her power than by channelling it through a psychic projection, but it’s still a restraint.
“I have to say, though, I’m surprised at her choice,” Frid admitted. “Kujikawa-san always struck me as closer to her sister’s type, as far as preference goes—if anyone, I’d have expected her to go for Amagi-san.”
“EXCUSE ME?!” Yukiko burst out, shocked and finding herself more than a little offended.
“Ordinarily, Amagi-san, Ereshkigal is very reserved, professional, and quiet to the point of being shy—it’s just that right now, describing her as absolutely furious is probably understating things.”
“I’M GOING TO TAKE ALL THOSE STUPID BUTTONS AND SHOVE THEM—!”
“. . . Yeah, that sounds about right,” Yosuke agreed. “I don’t think Rise-chan was even that angry over the hot springs . . .”
He winced at the angry glares from the other three females among his friends, and Frid decided to forego saying “I told you so” (for the umpteenth time), and instead try to explain.
“That’s probably less Rise than Ereshkigal,” he said contemplatively. “See, if Izanami had decided to just wipe my memory about all this, or imprison me for the remainder of my natural life span, she wouldn’t have cared; even just killing me via proxy, like by burying me under an army of Shadows, she probably would’ve ultimately ignored . . .”
Ignoring the looks of dawning horror on the teens’ faces, Frid continued, “However, Izanami is a goddess of the dead who tried to kill me personally, on her own turf, which could her give her a claim on my soul—right of conquest, and all that. But my afterlife has been very thoroughly planned out, thank you very much; and she doesn’t tolerate rivals any better than her sister does—they wouldn’t fight so much, otherwise. That’s the driving reason she’s here.”
“Phrasing it like that, however,” Naoto prompted, “implies that you think there are other reasons she’s here, as well.”
Frid winced, but reluctantly admitted, “Well, it’s just possible that she’s a little ticked off about Marie . . .”
“Huh,” Yosuke noted. “That would explain why she picked Rise-chan, I guess—”
“It’s mostly that she was the only one of them still conscious at the time!” the blonde deity called back—offering further proof that yes, she could hear them, even at a conversational volume, and was paying attention, even as thoroughly engrossed as she seemed to be in her macabre task.
Then she turned back to Izanami. “AND I’D ALMOST FORGOTTEN ABOUT YOUR LITTLE HONEY TRAP—!”
“. . . Huh,” Frid remarked after a moment. “Looks like Ishtar wasn’t the only one to pick up some bajiquan from Rin.”
“. . . Is that what that is?” Kanji asked. “They are nice moves—very graceful.”
“Yeah,” Chie agreed. “Think I could get her to teach me?”
“Are you crazy, Chie?” Yosuke spluttered. “You seriously want to go up against that?!”
Chie glared at him. “I said want to learn from her, not spar with her . . .!”
The boy shook his head, turning to Frid, “You always struck me as being a little weird, but you seriously dated HER?!”
“Almost the first words out of your mouth when you met Marie was an attempt to hit on her,” Frid countered flatly. “In other words, you made a pass at an avatar of that.”
“Grk!” Yosuke stiffened, involuntarily turning towards the (now-mutilated) deity in question, before going several very unhealthy-looking colours at once.
Further discussion, however, was cut off as the entire area began shaking violently—and not, as one might expect, because Ereshkigal had gotten herself especially worked up, but because the entire dimension was collapsing. Naturally, most of their time and energy was spent escaping, with a tiny portion of Frid’s consciousness devoted to worrying about exactly what this new incarnation/fusion of Eresh would end up doing to him—or to Rise, for that matter.
As it turned out, upon returning to Inaba proper, before he or anyone else could even really ask questions, Frid found himself getting tackled by an unexpectedly affectionate glacier . . .
Tatsuhime Shine, Inaba
After Izanami’s defeat
She felt him tense as the chill of her nature connected with his living warmth, but he relaxed, even as she greedily nestled against him for more of it. It wouldn’t heat her being, though even clothed in mortal flesh, she didn’t truly feel the cold any more than mortals were aware of the activity of every cell in their bodies—it was simply who and what she was, always. No, she clung to him because beyond the initial shock of her touch, he was troubled no further. No muscles tensed in reaction to her freezing arms wrapping around his neck, her icy thighs against his hips; no magics shielded him from her cold, though she knew he possessed such—she was simply welcome, as she was.
Queen of the Great Earth, she was named; supreme goddess of the Underworld, and absolute monarch over all who ventured within—yet Ereshkigal had discovered that even she, cold as the death she ruled, was not wholly immune to the meaning of a campfire, of the warmth provided by hearth and home and friendship. Here and now, beneath her fingers, burned her flame; offered willingly and without fear, only the promise of welcome, always . . .
And she touched him, and he did not flinch; she buried herself against his body and stole the heat from his skin, and he only smiled and asked if she was comfortable—and the promise was upheld.
“I’m feeling very improper right now,” she admitted. “It must be my host . . . You’re right—this child would be more suited to Ishtar.”
“Rise is nothing if not passionate, in everything she does,” he admitted. “It just sometimes takes her a while to figure out what she wants to do.”
“And this new host is so tiny,” Ereshkigal complained. “My eye level is off from where I expect it to be.”
“Are you about to complain that she’s a vessel unsuitable for your grandeur?” he asked dryly. “That is an Ishtar sort of complaint . . .”
Her eyes widened. “Oh, no—you’re right! It’s worse than I thought, I’ve made a terrible mistake . . .!”
“So, why Rise?”
His tone was inoffensive, but the question made it clear—he’d seen through her tiny fib. She was a bit surprised that none of the others had worked it out (one of them was supposed to be a solver of puzzles, weren’t they?), but not that he had, even as her cheeks reddened at being caught. After all, why wouldn’t someone closer to death be easier for her to contact? Why not, as he’d suggested, choose the girl closer to her own self as a host, rather than one that was more suitable for her sister . . .?
“Because she is more like my sister,” Ereshkigal admitted. “Impulsive, passionate, more likely to dive into things without worrying about things like consequences, or how it might be seen . . . Things that I thought might help me go through with this plan.”
“Plan?” he asked, in the same tone that some mortals might say “Bomb?”
Ereshkigal smiled in self-satisfaction. She did so love explaining the intricacies of her work . . .
“Well, after all,” she said slyly. “You have done a heroic thing in saving this place—this town, and perhaps and this world—and it is traditional for a hero to be rewarded, and for a goddess to reward her followers. And if that chosen reward is beneath the dignity of a goddess, then obviously, it’s the influence of my vessel . . . And unlike last time, there can hardly be an argument that my vessel is an innocent bystander in all of this—you did turn her down earlier, did you not . . .?”
“Of course I did—even if you weren’t a factor, she’s only fifteen, and I’m—”
“‘Literally old enough to be her father’—which is true enough,” Ereshkigal admitted. “I, on the other hand, am as old as civilisation itself; your argument is no longer valid. I can certainly prevent any long-term consequences, and she is quite eager to reward her hero, Sem ~ pai . . .”
She ran her fingers across his chest, and his heart rate indicated that the shivers they provoked had nothing to do with her inherent cold—
“You are definitely Ishtar’s sister,” he hissed—before all his muscles suddenly locked in place.
“My Queen, did you deliberately set all this up, just so that you could have sex and I’d have no real excuse to refuse . . .?”
Ereshkigal threw back her head and laughed, as she could never remember having laughed before.
“Finally, I made a plan that worked . . .!”
Fin
Unexplored Facets (Shuffle X-over)
Continuing . . .
Kongo Town, Japan
June 6, 2104
Nelia would later admit it, if only to herself: she had been sulking.
“Deepen our ties with the human world,” my perfect posterior! With a randomly chosen stranger—how absurd can you get?
. . . And if it was that important, then why foist the same “bridegroom candidate” on me and LITHIA?!
After all, while hardly the best of friends, the two girls had nevertheless been close since childhood; even aside from being peers, and theoretically related (legally), they had a shared dislike of Humans and the Human World—if not quite the same approach to it. Still, while they were very different people, Nelia wasn’t overly inclined to compete with the Princess of the Gods just for the sake of it . . . But her father, for some unexplained (and undoubtedly asinine) reason, was outright refusing to budge on this; given how normally pliant to her will he was, this sudden inflexibility was infuriating—
And so, she’d gone to her room to fume, not deigning to do anything to hide her irritation, but managing to not quite slam the door behind her.
“Marry a Human,” she muttered venomously. “Because trying that worked out so well for Grandmother . . .”
Or Lithia’s great-aunt, ultimately, she allowed begrudgingly.
But the Princess of the Gods, while tragically widowed, had at least won; she had the memories of her husband and his love to console her—Grandmother hadn’t even had that. And still, that wretched Human had had the gall to have her heart for all of her life—even after he’d REJECTED her, never mind DIED . . .!
Nelia had absolutely no intentions of being put through the same experience—but it looked like Princess Carnelian was being given no choice.
Of course, since she was being forced to go through with it, Nelia immediately considered engaging in her usual tactics when dealing with Human boys. Seducing them was never much of a challenge, in her experience—and breaking this one’s heart would be even more satisfying than usual . . .
But, she realised almost immediately, this wouldn’t be “usual,” would it?
She had a reputation as an honour student and perfectionist—which wasn’t entirely untrue—but maintaining that reputation went a long way to diverting suspicion from her when the boys she involved in her “hobby” finally broke down. After all, she obviously wasn’t the sort of person to lead someone on—or any of the other things they accused her of. It was desperation and delusion on their parts, obviously . . . And while the King of the Devils was typically wrapped around her finger, what with his being the doting father and she the darling daughter that they were, having plausible deniability had gone a long way to keeping her from suffering repercussions, as well.
But in this case . . .
Father will undoubtedly be watching closely, trying to make sure this match goes in my favour; and even if he wasn’t, Lithia and her family will be, for much the same reasons. Hiding what I’m doing will be much harder—and so will talking my way out of getting into any trouble for it.
Nelia gritted her teeth and resisted the urge to grind them; if she didn’t, she expected that they’d be a fine powder by the end of it. She settled for plucking a pillow off her bed and throttling it, instead.
“What am I going to do . . ?” she muttered. “I can’t destroy whoever this Human is going to be, I’m not allowed to say ‘No’—and for Maou’s sake, they’re even sending me to the same SCHOOL as Grandmother!”
She stared at the antique mirror on her wall, with the sparkling blue gem set into its frame. It had been one of her grandmother’s favourite items, and she’d always been happy to have it; likewise, she’d been so proud, growing up, to find that she resembled her grandmother so closely—
But looking in the mirror now, Nelia could only see herself as her grandmother, as a young girl—but she had been unaware of the quiet, heartbroken wreck she would become, and Nelia had no such luxury.
“AHHHH—I DON’T WANT THAT TO BE ME . . .!”
With a scream, the princess hurled the pillow at the mirror with all her fury—and it was a testament to her rage that despite her slim frame, it struck the mirror with surprising strength, sending it hurtling to the ground along with the projectile, whereupon the glass shattered with explosive force.
The blue gem, however, did not. Instead, it began to glow—alongside a hum that, like the pulsating light, swiftly grew in both volume and intensity . . .
Nelia was no magical prodigy, but she knew that was bad. Likewise, while she would never be a legend in that regard, her title of Princess of the Devils did come alongside significant magical power, even if defence wasn’t her specialty.
As such, she had just enough time to throw up a shield before the world went white . . .
Koyo Town, Japan
June 13, 2004
That had been a week ago—if you could count that sort of thing when you found yourself thrown a century into the past . . .
Nelia had, luckily, been very well-versed in her grandmother’s history; it had allowed her to recognise where she’d ended up, if not how, when or why . . . Her best guess, at this point, was that whatever the artefact linked to the mirror had been meant to do, it used itself as an anchor point—thus, she’d wound up not far from Grandmother’s childhood home in the Human World, where the mirror currently resided (albeit in the parlour, rather than her bedroom).
The Devil Princess wasn’t sure what she’d been more shocked by: meeting her grandmother at her own age, or the nearly desperate request which had shortly followed: that Nelia pretend to be her . . .
Of necessity, Grandm—no, “Lycoris,” for this purpose (which was still easier than calling her “Nerine,” really)—had explained some of the reasoning. The fact that Nelia knew her family history told her what the (current) Devil Princess hadn’t, and she’d had to fake ignorance so as not to appear too familiar with what she was told. Fortunately, Nelia was rather good at faking things, even if she did say so herself.
For her own part, Nelia was grateful to be offered a place to stay in exchange for pretending to be her grandmother (and wasn’t that ironic?)—and even aside from the survival concerns, it gave her a grand opportunity . . .
If only she could decide what to do with it.
Nelia’s own instinct was to crush the arrogant Human; to seduce and (emotionally) destroy him like all the others whose hearts she’d broken. Indeed, if there was ever a Human whose heart she wanted to break, Rin Tsuchimi was the top of the list—no, he was the list. On the other hand, Grandmother’s ploy was to get close to him by pretending to be Lycoris; to fulfill the dreams of that long-dead girl. All Nelia had to do was pretend to be Nerine, in return, and her grandmother’s heart would never be broken—and while Nelia could likely be seen as cruel, from the Human perspective, but she wasn’t a monster.
Except . . .
Except that her grandmother had possessed a time-travelling device for at least as long as Nelia had been alive . . . And she’d never used it. Not to prevent Rin Tsuchimi from marrying Princess Lisanthius—not even to stop his dying. If there was any truth to the idea from Human stories that meddling with the past invariably ended badly, that was a fairly clear argument for it . . . Unless—was it possible that Grandmother hadn’t known . . .? Until it had actually gone off, after all, Nelia had thought the stone was just a pretty ornament in the mirror’s setting, and a nice shade of blue. If Grandmother had thought the same . . .
(And who mounted a time travel device in a mirror, anyway—shouldn’t it have been a pocket watch, or something else more relevant?)
Nelia didn’t know. She just didn’t have enough information to do more than guess—and this was a test that she could afford to fail.
And so, she’d followed dutifully along with the younger princess’ plan (and yes, that was the appropriate description; Nerine was supposed to be the “older twin,” after all—and if they were the same age, then Nelia was still older, because her birthday was in April, and Grandmother’s was in October). That brought them here, to the park, where her “sister” was going to sing on the swings, apparently.
Nelia had always loved her grandmother’s singing, and hearing it now was no exception. Going by the few snippets she’d caught so far, however, it was rather a different experience. Her voice was clearer, and stronger, but also rawer; the lack of advanced age had restored her lungpower but erased a lot of the polish and nuance that a lifetime of experience had granted. Still, it was unmistakably the voice that history had named the “Angel’s Bell,” and Nelia was no less entranced by it now than she’d been as a child—
Had someone called her name . . .?
Even as she dismissed that idea as ridiculous (and it was, given that she was with one of the only three people here who knew her name, and hadn’t recognised the “voice” as either of the other two), Nelia reflexively turned her head in response. As such, she was the first to spot their visitor.
“We have an audience, Nerine-chan,” she murmured—and how bizarre it felt, to call her grandmother that! But the girl had insisted, as part of her role if nothing else, so she’d adapt . . .
Nerine’s head turned only slightly, to follow hers—and if Nelia had possessed any doubts about who had managed to wander across them, the other Devil’s reaction dispelled them entirely.
“Rin-sama . . .” Nerine breathed.
That—that expression on her face right there. Nelia had never not known Grandmother to love Rin Tsuchimi, married and gone or not—but seeing her in love . . . If there was ever an argument to damn the risks of meddling with the past, the sight of her grandmother as a lovestruck teenage girl (which was really strange to see) had to top the list. As soon her eyes set upon him, she quivered like a puppy who was one word or gesture away from charging forward, barking its heart out—
And it was only when she saw Nerine’s hands, her fingers white from clenching the chain of the swing, that Nelia realised the Devil Princess was as terrified as she was eager . . .
Were you this timid without me here, Grandmother? Is that why you failed?
She opened her mouth to offer a word of reassurance—she couldn’t help it—when she came to a realisation: And he broke her heart regardless . . .
Nelia’s lips thinned at the thought, and she found herself less than eager to chain her grandmother to someone who could somehow be dense enough not to notice someone as devoted to him as Nerine was.
Before her train of thought could tie her into any further knots, however, it was derailed entirely by the sight of Rin Tsuchimi headed directly for them.
Nelia stared. She’d known that recording technologies weren’t that great prior to the Great Collapse—and Grandmother had mainly had photographs, anyways—but she’d still never realised he moved so gracefully. Watching him was like watching a stalking cat; purposeful and confident, with an innate assuredness that nothing would get in his way—a far cry from the “awkward but kind boy” her grandmother had always described.
How much of that impression was fondness colouring her recollections, though, compared to what he was actually like . . .? the yet-to-be Princess of the Devils wondered.
. . . And were his shoulders always that broad?
As he drew closer into view, Nelia noted more specific details—one of which stopped her cold.
Wow . . .
His clothes weren’t anything special in terms of either make or material (quite the contrary, in fact), but Neila knew a well-tailored outfit when she saw one. Handstitched, by the look of it (and familiar—specifically, as the “classic, traditional technique” of a certain Human fashion house in her time), and deliberately done with an eye towards concealment; and since he moved much too easily to be hiding an extra dozen kilos of flab—
I didn’t know Grandmother was into beefcake . . .
“I wondered if I might find you here . . .” he said softly. “It’s been a while, Nerine-sama.”
Nelia frowned inwardly. Based on his statement and the fact that his focus was entirely on the girl in the swing, he had no doubt whatsoever in whom he was addressing. Which meant that letting her pass as Nerine would become much more difficult unless Nerine introduced herself as Lycor—
“‘-Sama?’” Nerine blurted out in confusion, her eyes wide with surprise, and more than a trace of disappointment.
“Traditional greetings aside,” he said bluntly, “it has been a while—I didn’t want to presume . . .”
All right, that was more like what she’d been taught to expect.
“Still,” he said, once more in that soft tone, “I’m more pleased than I can say to see you looking so well . . .” He turned slightly. “And my apologies—I don’t believe we’ve been introduced . . .?”
Her grandmother’s teenaged self was presently staring at her feet, with the brief glimpse Nelia had caught of her face showing it to be a very bright red. Lacking any other guidance, then—and having had it more or less confirmed that he knew she wasn’t Nerine, along with knowing that she couldn’t sing well enough to pass as Lycoris—the other Devil Princess had to rely on her own instincts.
In other words, she pasted on her brightest and most charming smile, and went to work.
“I’m her cousin, Carnelian,” she said pleasantly. “Though I find that it’s a terribly long name; feel free to just call me ‘Nelia’ . . .”
Nerine shot her a betrayed look that Nelia fought not to wince at; as it was, she tried her best to convey with her eyes that the plan obviously wasn’t going to work, so she had to improvise something . . .
Aloud, however, she merely concluded with, “And you would be Rin Tsuchimi, yes?”
“That is the general agreement,” he said in an unexpectedly dry tone, before tilting his head inquisitively. “Related on her mother’s side, I’m guessing? Only because I can’t see Sia or Kikyou not mentioning that they have three cousins who look like Nerine-sama . . .”
Both girls gave a start at that, but for different reasons—Nerine flinched at the second use of the honorific, but Nelia was dealing with the bottom dropping out of her world, on par with the first realisation that she was a century in the past.
“Kikyou”—the Devil princess of the World of the Gods was HERE? HOW? Her appearance in public had caused all manner of news articles to appear at the time, detailing her history—and while Nelia couldn’t recall the precise date at the moment, she was sure that the Devil amongst the World of the Gods’ royal family wasn’t due to show up until some time next year . . .!
“. . . Ah,” she said after a moment, trying to cover her lapse. “Yes, that’s right.”
He nodded. “Well, it’s nice to meet you, Nelia-sama.”
“Oh, ‘Nelia-chan’ is fine, Rin-sama,” she said quickly, trying not to focus on her confusion over the timeline (or the fact that, at a normal speaking volume, the timbre of his voice was quite pleasant). “And I’m sure Nerine-chan would prefer it if you addressed her that way—”
“Yes!” Nerine interjected emphatically, before abruptly reddening again—her hands were halfway to her mouth before she caught herself.
Tsuchimi smiled in a way that Nelia recognised from her reflection, as though he was trying to restrain laughter. Still, he was back to the gentler tone when he spoke to her.
“All right, Nerine-chan. If that’s you want, then of course I will.”
. . . This was the man who’d rejected her grandmother? Either he was an even bigger natural playboy than history had ever implied (which was saying something!), or—
He shifted in place, sending the shopping bag looped around his wrist swinging—and seemingly calling it to his attention.
“I should get home before I get so caught up in talking to you that the milk spoils,” he said regretfully. “If you girls don’t have other plans, you’re welcome to come with me—Kaede ought to be home by now, as well, and I’m sure she’d love to catch up with you . . . And meet you, as well, Nelia-chan.”
Oh, he was good—he was very good. He managed to make meeting with someone history regarded as the Human rival to the princesses (and a model of femininity and devotion in her own right) sound appealing . . . No wonder he charmed Grandmother so easily, and all of the others. And yet, Nelia thought with a frown, most in-depth biographies—not to mention Grandmother’s stories about him—conveyed almost the total opposite . . .
Tsuchimi having a different personality (and more muscles) than I expected, his mentioning the “Divine Devil Princess” so casually—exactly what is going on here? This is the past . . .
. . . Isn’t it?
Avalon Castle, Phantasmagoria Island (Grail Works. Ltd. Headquarters)
Beyond the boundaries of time and space
“You have thirty seconds,” Primula said into her phone (in the sort of calm, controlled voice which announced that she was actually anything but) “to explain to me how and why the Crown Princess of the World of the Devils is in the past—and the WRONG past, at that . . .!”