Tentacle Messiah

Nancy Amaryllis, the sacred Stargazing Ceremony has detected the manifestation of a glitch ability within your body. Therefore, the Orthodox Church declares you a witch and sentences you to immediate decapitation.

Please, this has to be some kind of mistake! I'm not a witch!

The guillotine of Saint Loire stands ready.

The circular execution ground in the town's central plaza is packed with spectators on every side.

Countless curious stares converge on the execution ground from all directions.

Under the weight of those gazes, the young girl's body is locked in the guillotine's restraints. Above her head hangs a massive blade suspended by rope, positioned to slice cleanly through the neck, its edge catching the afternoon sunlight with an ominous gleam. A wooden basin sits directly below the restraints.

Please! My power is a Gift from the goddess! It's not some glitch ability granted by demons!

The girl struggles desperately within the guillotine, screaming at the top of her lungs.

But her desperate pleas are met only with mockery from the crowd.

Carry out the execution immediately.

Once the mockery subsides, the executioner's authoritative voice rings across the plaza. Without hesitation, the executioner releases the rope, and the massive blade suspended above the restraints comes crashing down.

No! I—

The girl's final words are severed by the blade slamming into the restraints, her voice dissolving into a blood-flecked gasp that fades into silence.

The blonde young woman's head tumbles into the basin with a thud, her face frozen in an expression of pain and anguish.

Fresh blood from the severed neck pours down onto her head below.

But I feel no sympathy right now. I don't have the luxury of such emotions.

Next!

Because I'm the next one to be executed.

Move forward!

Two executioners push me toward the guillotine.

I try to use all my strength to push them away, but I can't budge at all. They seem to be controlling my center of gravity expertly through the precise pressure they apply to my shoulders.

My neck slides all too easily into the guillotine's restraints, and the thick wooden clamp designed to handle even dwarf executions closes around my neck uncomfortably tight.

Shion Walker, the sacred Stargazing Ceremony has detected the manifestation of a glitch ability within your body. Therefore, the Orthodox Church declares you a witch and sentences you to immediate decapitation.

The executioner announces my fate using the exact same words she used for the girl before.

Her voice is detached and cold, utterly devoid of emotion.

Locked in the restraints, I can't look up, but she's probably staring down at me with contempt.

Come on, hurry it up!

Execute the witch!

Crude cheers erupt from the spectators hungry for a brutal show.

Wait! This is some kind of mistake. I'm a man!

Those who possess the abhorrent abilities unwanted by human society—glitch abilities—are called witches. As the name suggests, most people with glitch abilities are women. A man like me being a witch? It has to be a mistake.

Hmph, some kind of mistake? Impossible. You're a creature possessed by a magical beast.

The executioner's cold words cut through the air behind my head.

Possessed by a magical beast . . . ? I can tell from her tone it's meant as an insult, but I don't understand what it means.

Spirit Thread is just a common Gift! Why am I being called a witch?!

The Stargazing Ceremony—a ritual to determine whether someone possesses the unique skills granted through the Goddess Astarte's blessing.

The skill granted by the goddess and revealed through that ceremony—the so-called Gift—should have been Spirit Thread.

It is the ability to manifest magical power in thread form.

Spirit Thread lacks the strength for combat use, and it's not uncommon to manifest.

People with the Spirit Thread Gift typically work as leather craftsmen or in decorative workshops.

It's hardly something that would be considered dangerous to society.

And yet . . .

I was judged to possess an abhorrent ability granted not by the goddess, but by demons—a glitch ability.

It's just an ordinary Gift with no danger whatsoever. An executioner who has dedicated her sword to the Goddess Astarte should obviously understand that.

Divine oracles can never be overturned, period. You should know that much.

Of course I know that . . .

But . . .

I can't accept being executed based on such a ruling.

But . . . this is obviously wrong any way you look at it!

Do you doubt the Goddess Astarte?

The executioner's voice comes from overhead.

No! I would never doubt God—

To doubt the Stargazing Ceremony—properly conducted according to divine law—is to doubt our Goddess!

No, that's not—

Doubting the Goddess—that's undeniable proof you're a witch!

Her tone is cold and leaves no room for negotiation.

If you protest being labeled a witch, that itself proves you're a witch.

Such obvious sophistry.

How frustrating.

To be executed for such a reason—with circular logic so simple that even a child could see through it . . .

The spectators surrounding the execution ground surely notice the logical fallacy too.

Yet no one objects.

Of course not. They're here looking forward to my execution. If anything, dying for such an absurd reason would only make it more entertaining for them.

A crowd has already gathered right in front of me. They want a clear view of the moment the guillotine severs my neck. Front row seats to my execution.

Their eyes glitter with excitement, eagerly waiting for my head to be severed.

This is so frustrating!

At this point, I wish my power really was a glitch ability.

If it were, I could tear through this crowd and completely destroy these grinning bastards . . .

But my Gift doesn't have that kind of power.

Just silk-like threads extending from my fingertips.

There's nothing I can do with these thin, fragile threads.

Frustrating, so damn frustrating! There's no other word for it.

Having lost my parents at a young age, my simple dream is just to have a peaceful family. Yet here my life is ending without even getting a girlfriend—without even holding hands with a girl . . .

Goddess Astarte, at least grant me an encounter with my destined partner in my next life.

How absurd. Here I am, about to be executed by the goddess's oracle, praying to that very same goddess.

My final prayer is interrupted in an unexpected way.

Excuse me, I'm sorry . . .

A gentle voice, completely out of place in this brutal execution ground.

Could you please move aside? Pardon me.

Her tone is kind and polite.

I'm sorry. Please step aside.

The crowd that surges in front of me parts, and through the gap, a young woman's face appears.

She wears a black and white habit. Her hair is covered by a similarly colored veil called a wimple. Around her neck hangs a large circular pendant.

Anyone can see at a glance—she's a nun.

Perhaps tired from pushing through the crowd, the nun places her hand on her chest.

Phew.

She lets out a breath, then begins walking toward me again.

Normally this would cause an uproar, but strangely, no one complains.

Instead, the execution ground falls eerily silent.

It isn't simply that they hesitate to curse at a woman in religious attire.

Somehow, they're drawn to her.

Captivated by the mysterious presence of this nun who had suddenly appeared, the spectators watch with bated breath to see what she does next.

Ignoring the countless gazes fixed on her, the nun's next action is—

Here we go!

She reaches for the head that had rolled into the basin and carefully lifts it with both hands.

Ugh . . . it's heavy.

Apparently heavier than she'd expected, she staggers back a few steps.

Blood from the severed head instantly stains the Sister's ample chest dark red.

You! What are you doing?!

The Sister smiles brightly in response.

What do you mean? I can't just leave it like this—my precious comrade's head.

. . . ?! Did she just say comrade?

This severed head—no, this executed witch—she calls her a comrade . . .

Y-you! A witch!

The executioner seems to grasp the meaning of those words and bursts into a shout.

Thank you for your service. I am Sister Sophia of the Arlone Faction.

The blood-covered nun bows gracefully.

Sophia . . . the Witch of the Evil Eye, Sister Sophia! Guards! It's a heretic attack!

At the executioner's shout, the Orthodox Church guards stationed to manage the crowd rush toward the nun.

Soldiers charge forward.

The nearest guard is already right in front of Sister Sophia. He lunges forward and seizes the sleeve of her habit.

The guard is twice Sister Sophia's size and is clearly built like a tank. Breaking free seems impossible, but . . .

Sister Sophia doesn't even try to resist. She calmly gazes at the guard who grabbed her sleeve.

Yes, she simply stares.

Ah . . .

Suddenly, an ecstatic expression crosses his face, and the guard freezes.

Still gripping Sister Sophia's arm, he just stands there with his mouth half-open in a daze.

Is it some kind of technique?!

Could you please let go of my hand?

The guard shows no reaction to Sister Sophia's request. He just stands there like a statue, still gripping the sleeve of her habit.

Um, please let go . . .

Heave ho!

Instead of the guard responding, a figure who suddenly appears answers Sister Sophia's wish.

A person completely covered in a pitch-black robe charges fiercely toward us, leaps while drawing their sword, and strikes without hesitation at the arm of the guard gripping the Sister.

Guaaaah!

A clean cut. Severed at the elbow, the guard's arm spins violently through the air.

Don't just grab the nun like that.

A young woman's face peers out from under a hood pulled low. She has pale white skin and refined features, but somewhat oddly, a rather slack expression around her mouth.

How are things proceeding?

Sister Sophia directs her question to the robed swordsman.

No problems here. Actually, everyone's already ready.

As if those words were a signal, pitch-black figures begin emerging from the crowd one after another. They all wear the same outfit as the first swordsman—bodies hidden in black robes, faces concealed under hoods pulled deep over their heads.

Witches! It's a heretic attack!

I can't turn around because of the stock, but I can hear guards shouting from behind as well.

The crowd is already in a state of panic.

Trying to flee in all directions, they block each other's escape routes.

Guards, assemble quickly! You there, call the Orc Battalion!

The executioner who pronounced my sentence raises her voice.

Ah, that might not be possible.

Just as the robed swordsman responds, a pillar of fire rises from behind the crowd.

It appears other witches set fire to the cages where the Orc Battalion is being held.

What?!

Oh my, the orc cages are all burned up.

A pillar of fire rises, spiraling like a tornado. It grows into an even more massive column as it draws in everything around it. That's no ordinary flame—it's probably the result of some kind of ability.

The executioner, who had been staring blankly at the scene, finally snaps out of it.

Wh—What are you doing?! Eliminate those witches immediately!

The executioner screams in a shrill voice. All traces of the composed tone she had when trying to execute me are gone.

Protect the executioner!

The clanking sound of armor echoes from behind me.

The guards are gathering in response to the executioner's call.

Raaaah! I'll crush every last one of you!

The robed swordsman streaks across my field of vision from the right.

You damn witch!

Immediately after, a man's cursing voice comes from where I heard the clanking armor.

Close-range combat seems to be happening, but I can't see that either.

Hurry up, Sister! More and more are coming—we don't have much time!

Yes, I understand.

After her calm response, Sister Sophia's face appears in my field of vision as I'm secured to the guillotine.

Close enough that I can hear her breathing. She's crouching down and gazing at my face.

A smile fills my entire field of vision.

It's so beautiful and pure that it seems completely out of place at an execution ground.

Shion, I've come for you.

Huh, um . . .

Come for me . . . ? What is she talking about? What does she want with me?

Sister Sophia's large eyes gaze straight at me.

Before I know it, I've become transfixed by those eyes. They're so mysterious.

Three pupils overlap and shine within each eye, glowing red like rubies.

What are you doing, Shion?

Her pale pink lips move smoothly as she speaks.

What do you mean . . .

I can't do anything. I'm captured, after all.

Why does someone with your level of power remain captured? At this rate, you'll really be executed.

Sister Sophia chuckles softly.

My power? Spirit Thread is a low-rank skill with no real power.

Tell me, Shion, is that really true?

Huh . . . ?

Sister Sophia brings her face even closer—so close our noses might touch.

Sister Sophia's large eyes fill my vision, the three red pupils overlapping at their center and shining mysteriously.

They're like three small suns blazing with light.

Haven't you realized, Shion?

Realized . . . ?

I can hear my own heartbeat. Thump, thump—my heart is racing, pumping blood through my body much faster than normal . . .

You are—

I'm . . . just a low—

You're a person of rare talent—

And my trump card.

. . . ! What just happened?!

Have I lost consciousness?!

Am I asleep? Hallucinating? Dreaming?

No. You are about to awaken.

(Shion Walker) Awaken?

Yes. Now then, excuse me—I need to give you an awakening kiss.

With that, Sister Sophia leans down and gently touches my cheek as I remain restrained.

She kisses me.

I feel the soft sensation of her lips against mine and the faint warmth of her skin.

. . . ! Mmph?!

Even during the kiss, I can see a faint smile in Sister Sophia's eyes.

Strangely, Sister Sophia keeps her eyes open during the kiss.

Sister Sophia deepens the kiss, bringing up her other hand so both are caressing my cheeks.

For some reason, I can't look away from her.

It's all right, just stay like that.

She couldn't have spoken while kissing me, but somehow I feel like Sister Sophia said that to me.

Those triple red pupils gazing straight at me.

Strange pupils that seem to hold three mingled emotions—as if laughing, angry, and sad all at once.

Sister Sophia's lips slowly parted from mine.

It had been a gentle, slightly sensual kiss, but the shock of it shoots through my entire body like lightning.

I feel dazed, yet my heart is pounding.

Of course it is. My first kiss, with a Sister who had suddenly appeared just before my execution.

There is no way I could stay calm.

U-um . . . ?! Wh-what was that for . . . ?

Did you dislike it?

Sister Sophia's small lips move smoothly right in front of me.

It's not that I disliked it or anything . . . but why did you suddenly . . . kiss me?

Instead of answering that question, Sister Sophia smiles mysteriously.

Now, it's time to awaken.

But I've been awake the whole—

Thump!

My heart, which had already been beating violently, pounds even louder.

At the same time, a single memory explodes in my mind.

Red flames burning over my entire field of vision, intense hot wind. A human being burned while tied to a pillar. A girl standing there motionless, watching. All expression has vanished from the girl's face.

Everything is grotesquely distorted.

A vivid memory.

But I have never seen that scene before.

A memory I'm seeing for the first time. Emotions I'm feeling for the first time.

Hot . . . my body is burning up.

What . . . is this . . .

Powerful emotions surge up from the pit of my stomach. Anger, excitement, sadness, destructive impulses—all these feelings blend together into a burning mass of heat that sears through my body.

The heat concentrates and gathers in my right arm.

My right arm . . . it feels like it's on fire . . .

Sister Sophia strokes my right arm while whispering in my ear.

Shion, you don't need to hold back. You can let it all out.

Aaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhh!

I clench my right fist and thrust my right arm forward with all my strength, even as the shackles hold me back.

At that moment, a dull, heavy pain shoots through my right arm from the elbow down!

Squelch!

Oh my.

When I came to my senses, everything from my right elbow down has vanished, and is replaced by a thick, serpentine appendage writhing and coiling in the air.

It can only be described as a tentacle.

It's as thick as my right arm had been, and its length probably exceeds my height.

The tip is slightly rounded, with slimy fluid dripping from its surface.

Can I move it?

I focus my will on the appendage extending from my right elbow, just like I would my own arm.

Nuaaaah.

The tentacle's tip sweeps in a wide arc.

It moves! Though the movement is rough, I can control it the same way I control Spirit Thread.

In that case—

How dare you restrain me with something like this!

I wrap the tentacle around the stock restraining me.

Crack!

The thick stock designed to handle even dwarfs is easily torn apart.

Even the reinforcing iron plates bend like taffy.

I'll be damned if I'm going to be killed in a place like this!

My voice is surprisingly loud, my tone harsh. I can't suppress the emotions surging through me.

Snap!

Next, I tear apart the chains binding me to the execution platform with my tentacle.

Now I'm finally free.

Wh-what is . . . that abhorrent form?

I recognize that voice.

It's the executioner who tried to execute me. With the stock gone, I can finally see her properly.

A black-haired woman, probably in her late twenties. Silver plate mail over white robes indicating her clergy status. The center of the plate mail is decorated with grape motifs said to be favored by the Goddess Astarte.

Her voice had suggested refined features, and she does have them—plain and cold-looking, but refined nonetheless. Now, however, her face is twisted with terror.

Huh, so that's what you looked like.

When I step forward, the executioner backs away.

Please run!

One of the guards immediately steps between me and the executioner.

Unlike the executioner, he's a large man in simple plate mail. The guard has already drawn his long sword and is pointing it straight at me.

He's no longer trying to apprehend me—he intends to kill me on the spot.

Fine. Try it!

My heart is soaring higher than I ever thought possible.

Even with a sword pointed at me, I'm not afraid at all.

Excitement and destructive impulses have completely overwhelmed my fear. In fact, I'm actually looking forward to this fight.

As if responding to my elation, the tentacle writhes and dances.

Squelch, squelch, slither, slither.

Raaaaah!

With the same motion as throwing a punch, I thrust the tentacle forward with all my strength.

The tentacle's strike is far faster and more powerful than any fist could ever be.

Thud!

There's a low metallic sound as the center of his plate mail caves in deeply.

Guhaaah!

The guard staggers and tries to flee, stumbling as he turns his back to me.

But the tentacle doesn't stop there. It snakes along the ground, then suddenly shifts angle and drives its tip straight into the guard's back!

Guaaaaaaah!

The impact sends the guard flying through the air before he crashes hard into the ground.

Wonderful. Just what I'd expect from the one who'll become our salvation. But surely this isn't all you're capable of.

Sister Sophia beams at me with obvious delight.

Now, here come the next ones.

Sister Sophia looks somewhat amused.

Just as she said, guards are rushing toward me en masse.

. . . I'll show them!

The rage inside me hasn't died down at all.

If anything, I want to test what this tentacle can do even more.

How about this!

I swing the tentacle in a wide horizontal arc, sweeping away the guard at the very front.

Guh!

The guard bounces across the ground like a skipping stone.

Damn it!

Another guard brings his longsword down. I block with my tentacle, then immediately whip the tip across his face.

Amazing . . . I took a longsword head-on and didn't feel any pain at all.

The slimy tentacle undulates like a great serpent, cutting down the guards in the blink of an eye.

Strong, fast, and resilient . . .

Ahhhhh!

Terrified, one of the guards flees the scene.

This is your power.

This is my . . .

. . . I absolutely hate this!

Sure, it's strong, fast, and resilient, but summoning slimy tentacles covered in bumps with those slightly swollen tips—this skill is absolutely disgusting!

Why do you have such a sad expression?

Sister Sophia peers at me with a puzzled expression.

. . . No, it's n-nothing.

Come on, let's escape. There's no end to this.

She's right. I need to focus on getting away right now.

Escaping from a public execution at the church—it's no simple task.

Sister, I'm bailing out first! Dragon knights are coming!

The sword-wielding witch from earlier shouts this as she passes by, then disappears into the crowd.

Dragon knights.

The common name for dragon rider and wyvern units. Any reasonably sized town has several dragon knights deployed to maintain public order.

They're rapid response forces with high mobility, able to adapt to any terrain or situation.

I have no idea how much power these tentacles truly possess. But even so, I definitely don't want to tangle with a wyvern.

I try to break into a run as well, but—it's too late.

Gyaaaaaaah!

A screech tears through the air.

Looking up, I see the wyvern with its massive wings spread wide.

Filthy witch! This is the end for you! Atone for your sins in hell!

The executioner suddenly regains her enthusiasm.

Yet she was pale as death when her guard escorts were defeated . . .

The very person who tried to have me executed . . . I'd love to give her a taste of her own medicine, but there's no time for that.

The wyvern lets out another mighty screech and immediately begins a steep dive.

The wyvern approaches at high speed, gliding through the air. It's trying to send us flying with a direct hit. A wyvern's body is several times larger than a horse—if we take a direct hit, we'll probably die.

We need to run quickly . . .

Is there somewhere we can hide?