The longest Day XIII

22:00

Minerva

In the large, sprawling household of Don Sama his children numbered in the hundreds. Trueborn, bastards and adopted were all treated equally.

This however was not a positive as it only meant they were all equally neglected. Don had no interest in blood bonds. Blood or not, if something was worthless to him, he discarded it without a second thought.

Cruelty however does not equal stupidity. Don Sama was frightfully intelligent, a savant in the truest sense of the word. And he wielded that gift with terrible efficiency, creating an organization of systematic terror for no other purpose then his own amusement.

The only reason why his reign of horror did not overshadow the entire continent was that, in the end, he was still human. His reach was limited, although perhaps it would be more accurate to say that he had no interest to extend his reach. Instead of bringing a small amount of misery to a lot of people he opted to bring a lot of misery to a small amount of people.

Chiefly his own family.

Don encouraged scheming and backstabbing almost openly and only employed the absolute minimum of guidelines to ensure his organization wouldn’t collapse outright.

No one was off limits. Anyone had to ensure their own safety and whoever was not capable of such would simply perish. If one of Don’s sons was stabbed to **** in front of his eyes he would pat the killer on the back and praise them for a job well done.

Don Sama didn’t exempt himself from this either, although anyone who dared to attack him personally would soon come to regret that decision. There was a saying in the Sama household that the one way to life a very long life was to attack the Patriarch.

The twisted philosophy behind this was to breed excellence by removing the chaff. Or, as Don Sama called it, “Trimming the weed.”

Half of Don Sama’s children didn’t live to see their first birthday and the ones that did often ended regretting it.

It was perhaps no surprise that such an environment would inevitably bring forth a monster.

Minerva Sama was the 37th true born child of Don Sama, conceived by his fifth wife.

Minerva had the “fortune” to survive the early years of her childhood due to becoming a “toy” of one of the older siblings. A Bastard in fact and one of considerably high status, which granted Minerva protection from anyone but him. This went one for the most part of her early childhood until she killed her abuser at the age of ten by shoving a spoon through his eye.

From this, Minerva learned a valuable lesson. The best way to survive as prey is to become a predator.

At age twelve her physical strength was a match for any adult. At her fourteen birthday one of her rivals ambushed Minerva with fifteen men. On the same night, a bloodied Minerva would show up at her rivals private quarter, slaughter her way through twenty more guards and **** her rival to dead.

“Should have send all at once” she famously said.

By age sixteen she had established herself as one of the five dominant factions in the Sama household.

Minerva’s fearful strength was tremendous but if that was all she had going for it she wouldn’t have made it very far. In addition to her strength she also possessed an extremely sharp mind. A cunning that allowed her to see through the traps and deception laid out for her.

Furthermore, if she once possessed any semblance of morality, the years of **** and clawing for survival exorcised it. Her penchant for sadism was even among the degenerates of the Sama household considered ****.

Finally, she was fearless. Never once allowed Minerva fear to impact her judgment. Or perhaps it was more fitting to say that Minerva lacked the core component to feel fear.

Strength, cunning, amoral, fearless. Minerva embodied everything her father sought in a successor and that might indeed have come to pass, if it weren’t for the three flowers Don Sama brought home one day.

These three were adopted children, brought in directly by Don Sama when he was already at an advanced age. And perhaps because of it they first enjoyed a sort of unheard protection in the Sama household. With age, the elderly patriarch had only become more deranged and nobody wanted to incur his wrath.

Minerva however knew very well that these sorts of reservations would only reflect poorly on her.

One of the three flowers in particular delighted her and she quickly turned her into a personal toy. She spend days whipping her body raw and bloody. But it wasn’t just physical. She also **** so much **** down her toys throat she barely spend a waking moment sober.

Even so, she took great pains not to break it. A rarity among her playthings. She might have even developed something that could be considered affection.

Unbeknownst to her however that rose was quite a bit more thorny then she thought. Minerva was smart, which is why she didn’t share the same fate of her own abuser but even she couldn’t avoid getting exiled when the three flowers bloomed together.

Don Sama went to the trouble of exiling her personally. A rare honor, some would think, but Minerva saw it as nothing more then her father enjoying the trimming process. He even informed her of the true reason for her failure. For while Minerva certainly embodied many virtues she lacked something critical.

Charisma.

It was such an absurd statement that Minerva couldn’t help herself but laugh. After all, her father had not a single drop of charisma in his decrepit body. He probably made that one up on the spot. Briefly, Minerva even considered cleaving her way through her fathers household guard and wring the life out of him with her own hands.

But that would have been suicide. After all, the real reason behind the Sama’s power, the Devil Asmodeus, would be loyal until her father’s ****. And just as her father, Minerva was only human. Even she could not prevail against a Devil.

From there Minerva wandered the continent for a year, offered her services as a mercenary and preyed on any poor fool who thought her an easy mark. She eventually settled down in Helman under her mothers maiden name: Margaret.

Minerva was 21 when news of her fathers passing reached her. By this point one of the three flowers has since preened her own comrades and obtained the Sama name.

This didn’t anger her but a queer curiosity engulfed Minerva. What would happen if she returned to Rasheul?

Of course, her exile was still in place. Which was why she came as a participant of the Rasheul **** Tournament. The new matriarch couldn’t attack her like this, not without making a scene.

And as expected, she didn’t.

Perhaps Ojou was secretly hoping that Minerva would end up as a **** or perhaps she saw no more threat in the exiled daughter. Whatever the case, Minerva found the process of obtaining slaves quite enjoyable and the pay was far better then what her mercenary work would bring her.

After a while, her favorite toy started competing in the tournament too, although she was smart enough to make sure to never face her.

As the years passed and Minerva became more and more famous she began to reconsider her fathers words. He had a point. While he himself never possessed it, charisma was an important quality to have.

It came easy to her. To pretend to be a lovable rogue and underdog. Once she finally achieved the crown on her sixth tournament the crowd was absolutely enraptured by her. And even more so in the year after when she defended her title.

Then came what Minerva considered her second biggest mistake when...

The sound of breaking glass ripped Minerva out of her reverie.

Making a sound, not of surprise but intrigue, the Dark Lord shifted her attention towards the large, now utterly destroyed panorama window. “Sheesh, just one thing after the other.”

Opposite to her calm demeanor, her butler screamed in panic and rushed towards the elevator frantically pressing buttons. “I...I bring help!”

Dumbass, Minerva thought.

The intruder moved with a quickness you wouldn’t assume such an armored figure to have and impaled Carlson on the spot.

...was his name Carlson?

“He was mine”, the figure growled in a deep, hate filled voice as he ripped his lance out from the limp body, staining the interior with blood and gore. “HE WAS MINE!!!!!!!!!”

Carlos. Right, That was it.

“How dare you”, the trespasser continued screeching. “HOW DARE YOU!”

Well, Minerva thought.

The golden knight, Silvester Spartano D’artagan certainly had seen better days.

It didn’t look like he shaved recently and his bloodshot maniac eyes didn’t exactly paint the picture of sanity either.

He was still wearing his armor however, Minerva observed. And of course that comically huge lance. Must have been a bitch to climb up here with that get up.

“Good evening”, Minerva poured herself a drink. “Can I offer you some…”

“SHUT YOUR FILTHY MOUTH, WHORE!”, the knight roared. “YOUR PENANCE IS AT HAND! YOU WILL PERISH HERE!”

...

The golden knight, Silvester Spartano D’artagan had almost accepted his loss. Vexing as it was, this too was the will of the Goddess.

The vile Dark Lord was destined to win this tournament, crushing all that oppose him. He would then turn Rasheul and all its inhabitants to ashes. The false Hero would try to fight him and fail miserably.

And then among all the desperation and devastation. He would emerge.

Salvation.

The golden knight would lead a holy crusade against the Dark Lord and deliver Rasheul from this blight.

It wasn’t exactly how he had originally envisioned it, but it was an acceptable compromise.

He was even looking forward to it.

...

The news that the Dark Lord was defeated reached him when he was halfway back to the holy city. They observed the fight on magic vision. A girl to the table next to him cheered when the wench won so he chastised her. Mueller dared to reprimand him for it so he chastised him too.

Then he hurried back to this wretched place of sin. He had to. He had to right this.

...

“I am the chosen one”, the golden knight stated towards his prey. “The apostle of the Goddess herself, brought to this mortal soil to bring deliverance, to usher in a new golden age for humanity. Wretched apostate, to oppose me is the most vile, heretic sin imaginable. I am…!”

The filthy wench threw a shadow axe towards him. D’artagan whirled his lance around and destroyed the projectile as if it was made out of paper.

A smile crept on his face. “Your demise won’t be an easy one, wretch. I will cut off all your limbs before I grant you the mercy of ****.”

The abomination scoffed. ….is that all?”

“In my authority bestowed by thee Goddess herself I hereby decree judgment. I declare thee: GUILTY! SENTENCE: ****! ****! DEEEEEEEEEEEEEATH!!!!!!”

The wench spat out a curse and stood up. Two more sacrilegious axes were forming in her hands as she faced him.

Jaivardhan shimmered with brilliant, golden light as if the holy lance itself desired to speak righteous judgment upon the blasphemous abomination. Yes, at last retribution was at hand. In an alternate reality the impudent wench won by employing cheap, pathetic trickery. A cowardly, odious ploy, fitting for such a lowborn weak whore reeking of low cunning and sin. No, to even say she won was an absurdity. An affront! For in true reality, D’artagan emerged victorious from that match. He won a flawless, magnificent, glorious victory. As he always did. He then went on to destroy the Dark Lord and be declared the champion, returning to the holy city in triumph. From there he would cover himself in even more glory, vanquishing abominations and heathens alike. And in the later stages of his life, he would lead the combined forces of humanity in a holy crusade against the Monster Realm, slay the abominable Demon King, cleanse the land and be rightfully crowned the first and greatest king of the continent. And then, later still, when he would finally depart this mortal coil and return to the Goddess, she would reward her loyal servant by granting him Apotheosis. This was his reality. The only reality. For he was the chosen one. The golden knight. Wielder of the blessed lance Jaivardhan. Shield of the Goddess. The one who reigns supreme. How dare this harlot deny him? HIM! To deny him was the highest of transgression. The cardinal sin. To deny him is to deny existence itself! For this continent is only allowed to subsist to serve him. Only as a canvas for his beautiful, perfect dream is it permitted to exist. His will shall be done! Every single creature on the continent has a sacred duty to submit to him! This absurd, illogical reality in which he does not reign supreme will be rejected! It can not exist! It does not exist! He will not allow it to exist!!!!!!

D’artagan’s entire being was focused on his prey. Every reflex, every nerve, every muscle, ever fiber of his body that he honed to ultimate perfection over the last two decades was fixated on his opponent.

Reality will be restored.

With a grand leap D’artagan charged. He put everything he had into this one thrust. He focused everything on his hated opponent.

Which is why he missed her.

From his blind spot, a second figure exploded towards him. D’artagan had time enough to cry out in surprise before the punch hit him in the stomach.

D’artagan was equipped with the blessed armor of Goldenbaum. An ancient relic handed down from generation to generation. His opponent was further heavily weakened by hours of ****.

Which is why the punch merely broke all ribs inside his body and caused him to crash against the opposite wall.

Vomiting out a squall of blood, the golden knight sacked to the ground as his foe approached, ready to finish the job.

D’artagan tried to counter with Jaivardhan, only to realize in horror that he had dropped his lance.

“I’m sorry”, the foe in front of him spoke.

“Don’t kill him.”

Salvation appeared. Of course he wouldn’t die! That was an impossibility from the start! He was the chosen one! He was the...

“Break his legs.”

For a brief moment, d’artagan was unable to comprehend these words. That split second was all the strongest Galmon needed. Raising her own foot she stomped down on the golden knights left leg with all her might.

The pain was replaced by adrenaline, pumping at full **** through his veins. D’artagan tried to escape but his wounds were already to vicious for that. “Stop!”, he cried out. “You can’t! I won’t allow it!”

By the time Valkyrie got his right leg he only screamed.

The Galmon didn’t do anything beyond breaking his legs. Both her and the abomination calmly stood there, watching him.

Never in his life had d’artagan experienced that much terror.

Finally finding the mental fortitude to move, he started crawling towards the elevator, while the monster looked on with amusement.

“Hey now Mister Golden Knight, you forgot your weapon!”, the monster jeered.

D’artagan didn’t care. Escape! He needed to escape! Self preservation took over all of his instincts. He almost made it, almost was at the elevator, the door was open, thanks to the Butler who pushed the button. He shoved the worthless corpse out of the way. He only needed to get in.

Then he noticed the horrifying sensation of something grabbing on his maimed leg and pulling him backwards.

No..No...this can’t be! It can’t! This is not real! It’s not!

“Hey now…”, the horror sneered. “I’m not done with you.”

He screamed in terror as he scrambled in a different direction now while his nightmare only laughed and slowly followed.

Eventually, he made it to his entry point, the large, now broken window. He tried to pull himself up but his armor suddenly felt so heavy. All he managed was to get his head over the wall. “Help!”, he screamed out in the darkness. “Sir Mueller! My Squire! H-help me!”

Behind, dead was approaching.

“HELP! ANYONE! PLEASE! HELP ME! PLEASE! HEEEEEELP!”

The golden Knight, Silvester Spartano d’artagan spend the last moments of his life in absolute terror.

…

..

.

“Talk about a mess”, Minerva complained as she watched over the ruin of her apartment. “Gonna need a new butler too.”

“There was no reason to kill him”, Valkyrie argued, her voice perfectly calm, despite the horrors that were inflicted upon her body.

“Security will be here any moment now”, Minerva responded, equally calm. “Otherwise I would have played around with him longer.” She chuckled and gave the lifeless corpse a little kick. “Too bad for you, eh?”

Valkyrie was unsure if her master was speaking to her or the corpse.

But for now, Minerva had more interest in the weapon the golden knight so heedlessly discarded. It was a beautiful piece of work. Lances aren’t exactly her style, but she probably could make it work after a few months of training.

“Destroy it”, Minerva commanded. “Thoroughly, I want every single piece of it grinded to dust.”

Only an imbecile would keep such an obvious weakness around.

Well, not that it really mattered. She had no intention of relying on her invincibility field in the first place.

Minerva glanced out the broken window.

The boy will most likely come at her with a devil. His soul is definitely not worth enough for that but Sylphid’s might. Will she sacrifice herself to safe her dear friend? At any rate it’s best to assume she will.

As such, Minerva focused most of her strategies on countering devils. This will be the biggest threat she will face.

But it won’t be the only one.

Could the Balance Breaker get involved? Minerva deemed that unlikely. That was part of the reason she tortured Valkyrie. She wanted to see if that thing intervened. But since it didn’t, it probably won’t for the finals either. Best to exclude that one from the **** list though.

Ojou-sama? Almost guaranteed. Minerva peered down in the darkness beneath and wondered if she had anything to do with this ****. That was awfully crude for her though. Why not just send Asmodeus? Or is she trying to lure me into a sense of security? Maybe she got her hand on some splinters of that lance? Minerva pocketed the biggest one but there’s bound to be a few small ones lost in the sand.

Any wildcard she didn’t account for? Maybe. Cass has a good head on her shoulders too.

Many maybes. Many things that could go wrong.

Never once did Minerva assume her upcoming final to be a guaranteed victory.

There are too many unknowns at play, too many variables to account for. Things like absolute victory do simply not exist. The idiots who believe in their own invincibility are usually the first to die.

Some say you should never doubt your own victory, never stop believing in yourself.

But that’s just a crutch.

If you need to employ such mental tricks to psych yourself up you don’t amount to much in the first place.

That’s how you end up like Sir Goldie here.

In this upcoming match both parties will try to get the other to surrender. Surrender in the **** Tournament can easily lead to a fate worse then dead. Minerva was sure to prove this to the boy should she emerge victorious. And vice versa she was prepared for the same should she fail. She won’t expect any mercy, not after the fun surprise she has prepared for him. It was, without a doubt, the highest of gamble imaginable.

But what is life worth without taking some risks?