[3rd POV]
In a throne room, a beautiful woman wore black armor so dark it seemed to absorb the very light around her. Her short, neatly cut blonde hair contrasted starkly with the darkness of her armor, while her pale golden eyes burned with intensity. Her skin, as white as a corpse's, stood out even more under the diabolical smile that adorned her face.
Beside her, a towering man stared at her almost maniacally. His dull, lifeless eyes seemed fixed on her, while a strange cloak covered his entire body.
He remained silent, following the woman's movements from the corner of his eye as she completed an invocation chant.
As the final words of the chant echoed through the room, five figures materialized before her. Their eyes burned with unsettling madness, but she simply ignored them as she opened her mouth:
"Thank you for answering my call, my servants. I am your Master. There's no need for further explanations—you already know the purpose of your summoning, don't you? Destruction. I want you to destroy everything in your path." Her voice echoed with a deep, almost palpable resentment.
The summoned servants remained silent, staring at her with the same madness reflected in her own eyes. No words were exchanged, but the glow in their eyes made it perfectly clear—they wholeheartedly agreed with their Master.
The woman then turned to the man who had been silently watching everything and ordered:
"Gilles, bring him here."
The man, identified as Gilles, nodded and left the room.
Moments later, he returned, dragging a frightened man behind him. It was an old, plump man dressed in red and white robes. A simple white cap partially covered his bald head.
"W-What's happening here?!" the man stammered, his voice trembling with fear. "Who are you? What do you want with me?!"
The woman in black armor smiled—a smile dripping with malice and contempt.
"Hello, Bishop. Words cannot express how delighted I am to see you again." Her voice was sweet but laced with venom.
The bishop looked at her with pure terror. His pale, sweaty face reflected the fear consuming him. The woman, however, seemed to revel in that reaction. Her smile grew even wider.
"Oh, Pierre! Bishop Pierre Cauchon! How I missed you! Have you forgotten me? I, on the other hand, have never forgotten you. Not a single day passed without your face haunting my mind... Jeanne d'Arc!"
The bishop trembled at the sound of that name. He stared at the woman, trying to process what was happening. Jeanne d'Arc? The Maid of Orleans? The heroine of the Hundred Years' War? His eyes widened as he began to stammer, trying to convince himself this couldn't be real.
"No... No, no, no! This can't be! You can't be her!" he screamed, desperate. "I killed you! You should be dead! Burned at the stake! This is impossible! You should be—"
"In Hell, you mean?" she interrupted with a faint smile. "Perhaps I am."
"But... I saw you burn! It was three days ago!" the bishop cried, clutching the crucifix hanging from his neck.
"Three days?" Jeanne tilted her head, feigning surprise. "Ah... yes indeed. Three days." Her smile twisted into a maniacal grin, and she started laughing—a high, shrill laugh that seemed to come from the depths of her soul. "Three days! Oh, how poetic! Just like Christ, I've risen from the dead after three days! Isn't that ironic, Bishop?"
She leaned forward, glaring at him with piercing eyes.
"You always said the Lord works in mysterious ways, didn't you? So what does this mean? Why would He allow me to return from the pits of Hell so quickly?"
Amid the horror, the bishop shook his head rapidly, slowly backing away from her. "This isn't real...," he muttered, his voice trembling. "This is just a bad dream... a nightmare. This can't be real!"
Before he could continue, a new voice erupted through the room. A loud, wild laugh—more disturbing than Jeanne's—echoed off the walls. From the shadows, a pale hand emerged, resting on the bishop's shoulder. The figure's long, sharp nails began digging into the fabric of his robes.
"Oh, no, no, no! We can't have you denying reality now, Bishop!" sang the male voice, dripping with cruel irony. "You must come to your senses!" Gilles, the man with the lifeless eyes, smiled gently—but there was something deeply sinister about his expression.
Terrified, the bishop turned his head and saw only the long dark blue robes covering Gilles' figure. The almost gray arms holding him were the only visible parts of the man. The bishop dared not look any further.
Despite the gentle smile on Gilles' face, the very next moment his clenched fist slammed into the bishop's stomach. The old man screamed in pain and collapsed to the ground, writhing.
"What will you do now, Bishop?" Jeanne asked, stepping closer to the fallen man. "Well? Jeanne d'Arc, the woman you condemned as a heretic and burned at the stake, now stands before you, alive and well. Won't you pray to your God? Seek answers? A blessing? Understanding? Won't you beg Him for forgiveness?" Her voice was sharp, each word dripping with scorn.
The bishop only curled up on the floor, trying to hide his face from her.
"Or... will you cling to your faith?" Jeanne continued, her voice rising. "Will you still claim that you are the saint and I the heretic?! Will you throw yourself at me now?! Try to beat me, torture me, humiliate me as you did before?! Will you still tell the world that Jeanne d'Arc is a heretic?! A false prophet?!" She roared, her rage boiling over. "WELL?! Where is the courage you showed back then, oh Bishop?! Where is the courage you had when you condemned a mere girl to death?!"
"...Spare me...," he whimpered, his voice broken. "Please... I beg you... mercy... please..." Tears streamed down his face. It didn't matter who or what was in front of him; he would do anything to save his life.
A heavy silence filled the air—but it was shattered a moment later.
"Hahahahaha! I'm so happy I could die again!" Jeanne laughed, clutching her sides as her laughter consumed her. The feeling was almost... orgasmic. "He's begging me to spare him! The man who mocked me... who burned me alive... is now begging for mercy! If that isn't hilarious, then what is?!" She raised a hand, wiping the joyful tears from her face.
Jeanne knelt before the bishop, her voice coated in false sweetness. "Just think... a few days ago, I stood before you, as you sentenced me to burn. And now, here you are, crawling on the floor, begging for your life." The bishop whimpered again, but Jeanne reached out and gently tapped his shoulder. "Please, raise your head, Your Grace. I have a confession to make."
Despite the mockery in her tone, the bishop slowly raised his head, fear still flooding his eyes.
"It wasn't God who brought me back, Your Grace," she said, her smile twisting into pure scorn. "It was the Devil."
"Bishop, I am no longer a mere girl. Now, I am a witch." A hateful smile stretched across her lips as she spoke with chilling calm. "So, Bishop... you just begged a witch for help. Imagine... a priest committing heresy." Her smile became a grotesque blend of hatred and mockery, each word laced with venom. "And you, of all people, know the punishment for heresy... don't you?"
"No! Please, I beg you! Spare me!" the bishop screamed, his voice full of desperate terror.
Jeanne stood up slowly, raising her hand with a calm, deliberate motion.
"No, Jeanne, please!" he pleaded, his eyes brimming with terror.
"Goodbye."
She snapped her fingers. Instantly, black flames engulfed the bishop, consuming his body in a hellish blaze.
He felt the fire devour his flesh, sear his bones—an unimaginable pain that seemed to tear at his very soul.
Why was this happening to him? No human should suffer like this. He was a man of God, innocent... and yet his body was being consumed by fire.
His agonized screams echoed through the hall but were quickly silenced as his body was reduced to ash by the merciless black flames.
"Oh, Jeanne, seeing you so pleased... it truly is a blessing!" Gilles exclaimed, looking at his "saint" with adoration.
Jeanne gazed at the flames with a calm, almost serene expression.
"Pleased? I suppose I am. More than that, Gilles... I feel relieved. But it's not enough," she murmured, her face turning cold.
"Of course, Jeanne! I completely understand!" Gilles replied, standing with an eager, excited expression on his face.
"Berserker-Saber, Berserker-Lancer, Berserker-Archer, Berserker-Rider, Berserker-Assassin, Berserker-Caster," Jeanne called, turning to the six servants who stood silently awaiting her orders. "Your task is simple: trample and destroy this mistake that is France. It doesn't matter who you were before. Now, your only mission is to kill. It doesn't matter if it's a child or an adult—religion, gender... none of it matters. All you need to do is kill indiscriminately. That is my command as your Master."
"Ah, yes indeed," Gilles replied, his voice brimming with joy, as the servants nodded silently and faded into the shadows.
A sinister smile curled on Jeanne's pale lips.
"When the time comes... France will burn."
••• ••• •••
A/N: We've finally wrapped up the first volume—next up, the new Singularity.
(Jeanne Alter - Character image)