Chapter Text
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I always have nightmares. In the dream, it's always the same place—a cell, iron chains, the smell of blood and sourness mixed together. A prison where day and night blur together, with no windows, only the faint white light of magic crystals. The floor, the walls, the ceiling—all the same material. The damp, moldy stench is nauseating no matter when.
I can only lie on the ground, staring blankly at the floor or the ceiling—it doesn't matter. My mind holds only one thought: I must survive. No matter how much humiliation I have to endure, no matter how many tortures and interrogations I go through—even if my limbs are shattered, my organs crushed, my eyes blinded, my ears deafened, my throat screamed raw—I would do anything to keep living.
Because I don't want to stay here anymore. Because I've died over and over again. In this unfamiliar world, I'm accused without cause, tortured senselessly until death. Every attempt ends in a dead end.
When my fingers are crushed, it hurts. "I'm sorry, I admit I did wrong."
When my back is flayed again and again, "I'm sorry, I deserve to be punished."
The branding iron is red-hot. When it presses down, it sizzles. The pain is so intense I bite through my teeth. "I'm sorry... I am... I am the Sin Archbishop of Pride."
I say the words of surrender and shame over and over. Did I satisfy everyone? Can I live?
Sin Archbishop—a word I can't understand at all. It's like the most convenient label, pasted onto someone so that others can kill them with peace of mind.
"I am the Sin Archbishop of Pride"—whenever I say those words, I don't hear my own voice.
That's not my voice.
My voice is... how should I put it... it's the voice that would answer "Coming!" when my mom called me for dinner. The voice that would brag to friends, "I'm going to be someone important someday." The voice that would whisper "Ah, that's nice" when watching an anime late at night.
But that sentence just now—it was squeezed out from someone else's throat.
That person's throat was filled with blood and fear. That person had already given up. That person, to live one more day, to breathe one more breath of this moldy air, was willing to admit they were anyone in the world.
"Good." The interrogator's voice came from above. Countless sheets of indictment covered with writing I couldn't read—Witch Cult, attacks, murders, deaths, unfamiliar places, times that don't exist, names I don't know, men and women, adults and children, unforgivable crimes, losses, charges, destruction, how many years, how they died... "You admit that you participated in the attack on the Watergate City of Priestella. You admit that you conspired with other Sin Archbishops of the Witch Cult. You admit that you committed high treason against the Kingdom of Lugunica."
Why does it always end like this?
I struggle with all my might. Every time I start over, I gather information. I hold on longer each time, sincerely and earnestly praying day and night to every deity I know, hoping to find a way out.
Until I see the end of every path—they have no reason to keep me alive. From the very beginning, no one wanted me to live. They all delight in my death. No one cares about me. No one wants to save me. I am utterly alone.
There is never any peace, because death is not permitted. I am not allowed to stop. Only eternal torment, in an endless hell.
In that mad world, I hear the voices of the crowd. So many people—talking, murmuring, shouting. I can't make out what they're saying, but everyone is laughing. Mocking me.
So I cry, I scream, I go mad—a sharp, violent shriek caught somewhere between weeping and laughing, my facial muscles twitching uncontrollably. I'm chained to a stake. At its base, bundles of dry firewood are stacked up to my knees. Cold, sticky, pungent liquid is poured over me. I look down—my clothes are soaked through. Dark fluid drips down my arms, onto the wood. They've doused me in oil.
"HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!" I cheer along with the crowd. The people are cheering for me—my death is useful. My feet, cold for so long, first feel warmth, then heat, then pain. My clothes are burning. My skin is burning. My flesh is burning. My bones are burning. Everyone and me—Natsuki Subaru, the Sin Archbishop of Pride—our cheers and screams mingle together. Fat sizzles. It smells like roasted meat. I can't help but think I must be delicious. I hope my death will be useful after all, that it will give some comfort to the hard-working, laughing audience.
"AAAAAAAAAAAAAH—" In the midst of the searing pain, my thoughts scatter. My joyful screams dissolve into a lower, more broken sound, like a runaway train reduced to scrap. I know it's going to start over again. The world fades from red to pure black. Finally, I lie in a peaceful, pitch-black void.
I want to go home.
I want to go home.
I want to go home.
"Mom... please save me..."
And then—
I felt a hand. A warm hand. Holding mine. It wasn't an illusion—it was real. In the darkness, a hand with warmth, with touch. There was someone—a presence.
"Wake up already!" A woman's voice. Someone pulled my eyelids open. My vision slowly focused, and I saw a girl so striking she was impossible to forget. The first thing that caught my eyes were hers—thick golden lashes framing round, bright red eyes like precious gems, looking at me with worry. I stared at her round, soft face, her short golden hair with playful curls at the ends. One long strand fell all the way to the floor, swaying like a ribbon, with a rose tied at its tip. She wore a deep purple silk slip dress, revealing her soft, tempting chest, and she was holding my right hand, both angry and worried.
"Baru-sei, you had another nightmare." Her tone was serious—an absolute statement.
What a serious and heart-fluttering sweet remark. A little girl, putting on a worried, angry face for my sake.
So to put her at ease, I put on an exaggerated grin: "Oh my, oh my—to be awakened by such a beautiful maiden, surely I must still be dreaming~"
Contrary to my expectation, she didn't laugh. Her frown deepened. "You were crying." She squeezed my hand, venting. "And laughing at the same time. Do you know how scary you looked just now?"
I froze, touched my face, and found it wet. My eyes were sore, my nose stuffy. "I... laughed?"
"You laughed!" She let go of my hand and started pinching my face—hard—like she was checking if I was really awake. "You were laughing like a madman. I almost wanted to punch you awake."
She actually hit me. On the shoulder. Like a cat's paw.
"You worried me so much!" she said, with that tone of "I'm angry but I'm actually concerned."
I stared at her blankly. The beautiful girl huffed and began an exaggerated performance, imitating me crying and laughing in my dream—clutching herself, pressing her soft cheeks as if weeping. "Aaaahhhh, it was so heartbreaking to hear! If this keeps up, next time I sleep with you, I'll turn you into a lump of meat so you can't think of anything but me!"
Seeing my beloved girl act so adorably, I couldn't help but laugh. "Don't be so cruel—my dear girlfriend loves sleeping with me, the real me—Natsuki Subaru, body and soul! That's absolute!" I teased, and she hit me a few more times.
After successfully making me laugh, she laughed too. But then her expression turned serious again. "Do you know how long you were calling out? You said 'help me,' 'Mom,' and also—"
She paused, her voice dropping, as if hesitating to say it: "...I want to go home."
I was silent for a moment. I looked down at my body—whole, clean, no burns, no scorch marks. My wheat-colored hands and chest, no black dragon blood scars. All ten fingers could move, nails intact, skin and flesh intact. Everything was functioning normally, brand new. I gave her a reassuring smile.
Then I told her about the dream—the fear carved deep into my bones.
"I dreamed... I was burned alive."
I knew I could tell her. Because I depend on her. Because without her I couldn't live. Because our flesh and blood have fused. Because we promised to share each other's pain and joy. Because I held a selfish heart... I defined and cursed myself to love only her in this lifetime.
She was silent.
"Everyone was laughing. No one helped me."
I wanted to tell her more—to make her pity me, to make her love me more. I felt my voice trembling. I took a breath and continued.
"And then I woke up. And you were holding my hand."
I looked up, my right hand touching her face, our eyes meeting.
"Thank you for waking me up."
She froze. Then her face—that round face with red eyes under golden lashes—crumpled, like she wasn't used to hearing such words.
"...Don't thank me!" She turned away, her voice hoarse. "No one will ever burn you! You're mine! So no one will mock you! I promise!"
The words came from her heart, full of confidence. I laughed—a real laugh. Not the forced, mad laugh on the pyre. It was a laugh that knew I was safe, that I was being loved.
She turned back to me, her frown still there.
"I won't let you have nightmares anymore!" Her voice was fierce. "From now on, whenever you have that kind of dream, think of me. I sleep right next to you. The moment you have a nightmare, I'll grab your hair and wake you up—and then it won't come back."
Capella put her hands on her hips, declaring a permanent solution to nightmares. So full of energy first thing in the morning—a girl who moved me with her actions, her appearance, her heart.
She kept muttering cute things as she hopped out of bed barefoot, rummaging through the messy coffee table for a clean cup. To be precise, a relatively clean one—the rim still had traces of dried red liquid. She wiped it with her palm and thought to get me water.
Watching her busying herself, I felt genuine happiness. How wonderful to have her here~ It made me think—our union was truly destined.
We are both the kind of people called Sin Archbishops—hated by the world. Capella has committed countless evils. And I—Natsuki Subaru, the Sin Archbishop of Pride—threw away all sense of good and evil the moment I decided to flood Priestella.
From the first time I met her, when she saved me and took me in as a pet, to now—we've been through so much. But still... I'm not satisfied. Watching Capella walk toward me with the cup, I made the decision—I would tell her those words today.
I'm going to propose to Capella! I want to make a contract with her for eternity! I want to be with her forever! Even death cannot prevent us from loving each other!
Premise:
The affectionate nicknames the couple calls each other:
Baru-sei（バルセイ/Subaru is my Star）
Pera-mi（ペラミ /Capella is as sweet and adorable as honey/My other half. We share flesh and blood.）
Subaru and Emilia had just finished fighting the Sin Archbishop of Greed, resting in the church at the Watergate City of Priestella. There, Subaru was attacked by two Sin Archbishops of Gluttony, whose routes had changed significantly—they stole his name and his memories.(Regarding logical issues,Roy went mad, and his sister stepped in to take his place.)
The moment Subaru was summoned to this Isekai world, he found himself in a dark prison, accused of being a Sin Archbishop. To survive, his Greed Authority grew rapidly, born from his desperate desire for others to understand him. His Sloth Authority also twisted and grew with his pain and despair, unbound by any human connection. One could say that everything that follows is atonement for the Underground Prison arc.
After being driven mad by torture in the prison, he escaped and was rescued by Capella, who took him to The Holy Kingdom of Gusteko. Because of his Greed Authority, Subaru could communicate directly with spirits—which made him a vital tool in the eyes of the Holy King Church, a nation that worships spirits as its faith. Meanwhile, Capella, who had no faith in love, kept manipulating and gaslighting Subaru, using him as a pawn to deal with the Holy Church.
Denied love, his body treated as a tool, Subaru suffered endlessly. After enduring countless hardships, he followed Capella back to the Water Gate City, where he touched the remains of the Witch of Pride. At that moment, he finally saw his own desire clearly—the desire for everything to go his way. The power of definition. The moment Subaru and Capella's flesh and blood fused, he could no longer tell if this was "the love I want" or "the anchor I must hold onto." But he would come to understand—an anchor is also a form of love.
The Authority of Pride is not only terrifying and powerful—it corrupts the mind. Now, Subaru's mindset is dangerously twisted, forcing his will onto others, truly living up to the name of Sin Archbishop of Pride. And with the Witch of Pride's remains fading away, the Water Gate City of Priestella was inevitably flooded. Subaru's sins are already beyond redemption.
This is a true Villain Alternate Universe—Subaru and Capella as the villains, Emilia as the hero. I hope to write a compelling dual-narrative confrontation. A path with no return, an unchangeable reality, a past that cannot be undone.
This fragment is merely a small sweet interlude, a bridge between past and future. I've written about 100,000 words of outline for
, and while the broad strokes are in place, the outline is far from finished. The story is long, filled with countless beloved plot points. Every time I look back at my outline, I think—am I a genius? I really must be a genius! I couldn't even imagine such delicious, fascinating plotlines if I tried again.