第肆章、你所不知的自己
Chapter 4: The Self You Never Knew
教會最深處的「秘儀之間」，瀰漫著一種被無數聖歌與祈禱淬煉過的古老沉重。被歲月打磨得光滑如鏡的黑曜石牆壁，上面蝕刻著層層疊疊的強力封印符文，是自教會創立之初便傳承下來的，此刻正因龐大聖力的注入而流轉著神聖光輝。空氣中濃郁的乳香與沒藥氣味，幾乎凝成煙霧，與無處不在的低沉拉丁文詠唱共鳴著，編織成強大神聖的結界，足以鎮壓並剖析最深邃的邪惡核心。
神無月結衣被一位面色凝重的樞機執事引領到此地時，心中充滿了冰冷的不祥預感。主教蒼老的面容上覆蓋著一層從未見過的寒霜，只以沉痛的語氣告知她，教會的聖殿騎士團在一次付出巨大代價的突襲中，攻破了一處黃前家族進行核心褻瀆秘儀的巢穴，並帶回了一個至關重要卻也極度危險的「存在」。
當她透過以聖銀與祝福水晶鑄造的「真視之窗」看向室內時，她的靈魂彷彿瞬間被絕對零度所封凍。
房間中央是一座由整塊幽暗黑玉雕琢而成的平臺，形似古老祭壇。平臺上空，數個刻滿希伯來文封印詩篇的純金圓環緩緩旋轉，交錯投下蘊含淨化之力的光柵，構成一個複雜的立體聖罰封印陣。
而她的母親神無月一夢，平靜而詭異地置身於這聖潔與褻瀆交織的祭壇中心。
一夢的頭顱並未安放在她的頸項之上，其被懸置於一個造型詭異，彷彿異教聖杯與異界儀器混合體的秘銀支架。她雙目張開，眼神空洞得如同打磨光滑的黑曜石，面無表情，彷彿在等待著下一次使用。
數道由純粹聖光能量構成的細細鎖鏈，從周圍旋轉的金環中伸出，輕柔卻牢固地連接她太陽穴與後腦幾個幾乎看不見的暗色符文印記。這些光之鎖鏈正如同脈搏般，有節奏地明滅著，顯然正在強行讀取或抑制著什麼。
最令人駭然的是，她的天靈蓋上方，懸浮著一枚鴿子蛋大小，內部如同有星雲流轉的深邃靈晶。這顆水晶投射出一道不斷變幻著複雜幾何符文形態的朦朧光暈。光暈如同無形的手，「滲透」並「打開」了她的顱腔，將內裡的景象暴露出來——那並非大腦組織，而是一片內蘊無數細小如星辰的幽暗符文在生生滅滅的異界景象！幾位身披沉重祭披的高階驅魔司祭正圍繞祭壇，手持鑲嵌寶石的聖杖，引導著灼熱的聖光，小心翼翼地探測並分析那片絕非人類所有的內在領域。
而一夢的身體，則靜靜地坐在祭壇一旁的石椅上，彷彿與這一切驚悚毫無關聯。頸部之上的空缺，平滑得令人心悸，並不急於尋求重新接合；她身上穿著的緊身黑色禮服，和套上雙腳的略顯張揚的鱷魚皮露趾高跟，與結衣所熟悉的溫雅母親形象格格不入；身體是同一個，但「承裝」的內在人格卻彷彿被抽離、更換。這具身體的雙腿優雅地併攏，雙手平靜地撫於大腿之上，姿態標準得如同禮儀人偶，只是在靜默地等待著下一步指令。一位高階司祭，一手緊握閃耀著白熱光芒的十架苦像，另一隻手的掌心則直接接觸著一夢身體頸部的斷面，口中急速誦唱著解析禱文，似乎在直接拷問、存取這具軀殼最底層的運作邏輯。
「媽…媽媽…？」結衣的聲音跳動得幾乎無法連貫，眼前的景象徹底顛覆了她對「生命」、「母親」乃至「存在」的所有認知。她同時感受到自身構成與那頭體分離的母親軀殼之間，正產生一種源自血脈與底層設定而令人毛骨悚然的的共鳴，還有那具空殼彷彿因「新個體」建構未完成而散發出的紊亂靈波。多重的詭異感受讓她如墜冰窟，不自主地劇烈顫抖。
「此刻在此地的，是名為『黃前一夢』之殼，其隱藏的非人內在正被聖光強制顯現。」主教的聲音如同冰冷的聖經鐵頁在摩擦，「我們發現她時，她正處於『魂識更迭』之儀的中段。她的『神無月一夢』之表層人格識體已被暫時卸下，猶如更換書頁，以待寫入新的虛偽構成。我們得以窺見這異端家族操弄靈魂，將人視為容器的可怖技藝。」
主教的每一個詞彙，都像一枚枚燒紅的褻瀆釘子，狠狠釘入結衣的信仰核心，發出滋滋的焦糊聲。
「殼…？更迭…？卸下…表層人格…？」這些冰冷非人的詞彙在她腦中瘋狂迴響，試圖構建出一個她靈魂極度抗拒卻又無法否認的，關於母親的「真實」。同時，那股與母親軀殼共鳴的感覺越來越強，彷彿她體內也有什麼類似的「結構」正在被喚醒。
就在此時，主持儀式的司祭長老眉頭緊鎖，彷彿感知了什麼，轉頭面向主教，聲音透過結界傳來，帶著難以置信的震驚與困惑：「主教，保護其核心靈識的障壁極為堅韌，帶有強烈的異端契約與怨念集合體的氣息。但其上…竟奇異地纏繞著與聖女殿下同源同質的靈力波動！？或許…或許可嘗試以殿下為靈韻媒介，進行一次定向共鳴，方能洞見真貌。」
「不！絕對不可以！」結衣發出一聲源自本能的尖叫，一種彷彿預見到自身終結的巨大恐懼攫住了她，她瘋狂後退。
但司祭長老的動作更快。他手中的聖杖已然調轉方向，一道純淨溫和卻不容抗拒的聖光自杖頂射出，精準地籠罩了窗外的結衣，建立靈性橋樑，瞬間完成深層的強制性靈識鏈接！
嗡——
一股龐大、冰冷，不屬於結衣個人記憶與意識的資訊洪流，彷若決堤的冥河之水，透過這道聖光，狂暴地沖刷進結衣的靈魂深處。
「嗚啊啊啊——！」她抱住彷彿要裂開的頭顱，發出淒厲至極的哀嚎。並非源自肉體的疼痛，而是整個「自我」被強行侵入的終極戰慄。
她的視野被無數來自家族集體靈識強行灌入的畫面充斥： ——冰冷的祭壇…周圍是眼神空洞、如同儀式人偶般精準同步地吟誦詭異禱詞的「親人」… ——她幼年的身體被多次放置其上…聖劍之左腿、聖杖之右腿、她的頭顱、她的雙手…彷彿一件件待分析的聖遺物，被無數閃爍著幽紫靈光的符文鎖鏈連接，測量著其中流淌的神聖力量，摹寫著其構成，甚至嘗試…解析以複製？
之後顯現於結衣識中的，是殉道者怨念與扭曲信仰共構的黃前家族集體意識，古老而冰冷。其由天草四郎的遺恨和悲願轉化而成，塑造了黃前家族。
這集體意識沒有具體的人格，所有黃前家族成員的靈魂，都是這片黑暗之海中的水滴，隨其起伏。而她身為聖女「神無月結衣」面具下的底層，「黃前結衣」，是這片黑暗之海中一座由他們親手打造，閃耀著竊來之光的奇異燈塔。她是家族盜取「奇蹟」的終極證明，是他們最成功的「終極造物」，是藉由黃前一夢這具優秀「母體」孕化而出的偽神聖——也因此從根源上，當屬黃前。
「靈紋指認…根源之識：黃前結衣。現世之形：神無月結衣。靈識連結成形…」
一個不帶絲毫生靈情感與溫度的聲音，如同審判宣告，直接在她的靈魂深處迴響。那不是母親的聲音，那是家族根源意識本身的低語！是她的「造主」在呼喚她的真名！
與此同時，她感到體內神力瘋狂暴走。她的雙腿——聖劍與聖杖的化身——內部的神聖符文劇烈閃爍、扭曲，彷彿兩股同源卻相斥的力量在進行最激烈的內戰，來自教會信仰祝福的聖光與一絲絲代表黃前本源切支丹信仰的幽紫色異端符碼交錯閃現。她背後的光之羽翼不受控制地張開又瞬間崩散成無數光點，頭頂的光環明滅不定，如同即將熄滅的燭火；而她的靈魂更是幾乎要失去結構，變成純粹的靈能亂流。
結衣的雙腿強行脫離，化成聖劍、聖杖，然而不完全的變化反饋給結衣巨大的痛苦與對抗。她奮力握住聖劍，然而構成劍身的左腿不斷地抽動。構成聖杖的右腿則扭曲至毫無神聖的威儀，只有可笑與怪異。她試圖用聖詠壓制變異，聲音卻在喉嚨裡顫抖成斷續的碎片和古怪的低語。她無法定義自己，就像是有人在她的心臟深處，冷冷地牽動着弦。
「不要……這不是我的祈禱！」
然而光與暗依舊合攏，聖歌被淹沒，聖劍與聖杖被一股無形的鎖鏈纏繞、拖入深淵。結衣看到劍尖以扭斷般的非人角度，自主地轉向她，眼裡的自身腳趾對著她射出被背叛的憤怒；右腳腳掌則彷彿因其無法被自身治癒的悲哀，掙脫與杖身的固定姿態，扭轉並蜷縮至極限，血管和關節幾至迸裂。
結衣明白了。 一切都殘酷赤裸地展示在她眼前。 那共鳴，那排斥，那某些戰鬥中來自體內的莫名干擾和阻滯，那偶爾出現的關於「神無月結衣」存在的切割感，那本能迴避卻老是想到的「黃前結衣」概念和隨之而來的巨大心悸…一切都有了解釋。 她從不只是被上帝選中的聖女，更是被黃前家族染指、竊取並精心培育的活體神蹟樣本。她的整個人生，她的信仰，她對母親的愛，都不過是漂浮在黃前這片深不見底的怨念之海上的，一層名為「神無月」的脆弱泡沫。
「強行斷開！立刻！以父與子與聖靈之名！」主教驚怒交加，還帶著一絲恐懼的指令吼聲彷彿來自遙遠的天外。
秘儀之間內所有的封印符文瞬間爆發出太陽般的光輝，蘊含神威的宏大聖詠聲如同海嘯般壓來，那道連接結衣與母親（或者说，與背後的「造主」）的靈能橋樑被強大的聖力悍然斬斷，冰冷的意識洪流與可怖的低語驟然消退。
結衣癱倒在地，身體像被徹底掏空般劇烈地痙攣、顫抖，冷汗早已浸透她的修士袍。她看著自己脫落的雙腿，依舊不受控制地閃爍著彷彿要對抗她異端本質的紊亂光芒，一股源自靈魂最深處，對自身存在的徹底噁心與恐懼淹沒了她。
「黃前結衣」雖已顯現，卻尚未完整啟動。聖力籠罩的教會遮蔽了其與黃前靈識之海的連結——此前連結的，不過是由黃前一夢軀殼所攜帶的微縮複本，何況黃前一夢仍在被拆解的狀態中，無法主動藉由連結操控黃前結衣。黃前結衣未接受到家族指示，程序性地「知曉」當前狀況，卻無法判斷下一步該怎麼走，遂以「待命」的狀態，仍舊運作表層的神無月結衣。
結衣掙扎地觸摸自己的身體部位，陷入極大的內在錯亂。這身體，這力量，這被稱之為「人生」的經歷…有多少是真實？有多少只是被精心書寫的運作模式與偽裝？連對母親的愛，是否也只是底層設定輸出的虛假訊號？至於來自母親的愛……
她抬頭，透過因淚水與汗水而模糊的視線，看向秘儀之間內，母親那被「打開」而顯露出非人內在的頭顱，以及那具靜坐等待，冷漠如器皿無頭軀體。
有那麼一瞬，結衣在母親無頭軀體因被解析而顫抖的肩膀間，看見渺茫的救贖——那具軀殼微微前傾，像是下意識伸手想要護住她。結衣幾乎要相信，那軀殼並非全然空洞。可下一瞬，母親軀體姿態回復僵硬，冷漠如初。
這一絲溫情的幻覺，比純粹的冷酷更殘忍。
眼淚無法流出，因為連哭泣這一行為，此刻都顯得如此可疑。無以復加的悲戚、荒誕與徹底的孤獨感吞噬了她。
她的世界沒有崩塌，而是像一幅被潑上了濃稠褻瀆之墨的聖像畫，所有的色彩都混雜、扭曲、變質，面目全非，再也無法復原。
然而，就連認為自身被褻瀆、玷污，從本質上來說，也是荒謬的——事實上，「神無月結衣」還得以假裝存在，也僅僅是「黃前結衣」尚未有動機以進行下一步動作。
她一直是黃前結衣，只是「神無月結衣」這個外殼，現在透過外界現實，被輸入了黃前結衣沒給她的真相資訊而已。
「我…究竟是什麼？」
這個低語，不再是尋求答案的疑問，而是對自身存在本身的徹底否定。絕望的程度，遠勝過任何地獄惡魔的咆哮。
結衣死死咬住唇，鮮血流下，劇烈的疼痛隨之而來——至少這份疼痛，還屬於她，還能證明她在。
The "Chamber of Sacraments," in the deepest sanctum of the Church, was steeped in an ancient gravity, tempered by countless hymns and prayers. The obsidian walls, polished smooth as mirrors by the ages, were etched with layered, powerful sealing runes passed down since the Church's founding. Now, infused with immense holy power, they flowed with a divine radiance. The rich scent of frankincense and myrrh in the air was so thick it nearly condensed into smoke, resonating with the ubiquitous, low Latin chants to weave a mighty and sacred barrier, potent enough to suppress and dissect the most profound cores of evil.
When Kannazuki Yui was led here by a cardinal deacon with a grave expression, her heart was filled with a cold, ominous premonition. The bishop's aged face was veiled in a frost she had never seen before. In a somber tone, he informed her that the Church's Knights Templar, in a raid that came at a great cost, had breached a nest where the Oumae family was conducting a core blasphemous ritual. They had brought back a "presence" that was both critically important and extremely dangerous.
As she looked into the chamber through the "Window of Truth," forged from holy silver and blessed crystal, her soul felt as if it had been instantly frozen at absolute zero.
In the center of the room was a platform carved from a single block of dark jade, resembling an ancient altar. Above it, several solid gold rings inscribed with Hebrew sealing psalms rotated slowly, their intersecting paths casting a lattice of purifying light to form a complex, three-dimensional holy punishment sealing matrix.
And her mother, Kannazuki Ichiyume, was positioned at the center of this altar where sanctity and blasphemy intertwined, in a state of calm and eerie stillness.
Ichiyume's head was not on her neck. It was suspended in a bizarrely shaped mithril stand, a hybrid of a heretical chalice and an otherworldly instrument. Her eyes were open, their gaze as vacant as polished obsidian, her face expressionless, as if awaiting its next use.
Several thin chains of pure holy light extended from the surrounding golden rings, gently yet firmly connecting to several nearly invisible, dark runic marks on her temples and the back of her head. These chains of light pulsed rhythmically, like a heartbeat, clearly in the process of forcibly reading or suppressing something.
Most horrifying of all, floating above the crown of her head was a deep soul crystal, the size of a pigeon's egg, with what looked like a swirling nebula inside. This crystal projected a hazy halo of light that constantly shifted through complex geometric rune forms. The halo, like an invisible hand, "penetrated" and "opened" her cranium, exposing the scene within—not brain tissue, but an otherworldly vista where countless tiny, star-like abyssal runes were constantly being born and extinguished! Several high-ranking exorcist priests in heavy chasubles surrounded the altar, holding jewel-encrusted holy staves, channeling searing holy light to cautiously probe and analyze that utterly non-human inner domain.
Meanwhile, Ichiyume's body sat quietly in a stone chair beside the altar, as if completely unrelated to the horror. The space above her neck was unnervingly smooth, showing no urgency to be reattached. The tight black dress she wore and the slightly ostentatious crocodile-skin, open-toed heels on her feet were utterly at odds with the gentle image Yui had of her mother. It was the same body, but the "inhabiting" personality seemed to have been extracted and replaced. The body's legs were crossed elegantly, its hands resting calmly on its thighs, its posture as standard as a mannequin's, simply awaiting its next instruction in silence. A high-ranking priest, one hand gripping a crucifix that glowed with white-hot light, placed the palm of his other hand directly on the cross-section of Ichiyume's neck, rapidly chanting a prayer of analysis, as if directly interrogating and accessing the shell's most fundamental operating logic.
"Mo... Mom...?" Yui's voice was so choppy it was nearly incoherent. The scene before her completely subverted her every understanding of "life," "mother," and even "existence." At the same time, she felt a blood-chilling resonance between her own composition and her mother's dismembered form, a connection born of bloodline and base programming. She could also feel the chaotic spiritual waves emanating from the empty shell, as if its "new individual" construct was incomplete. The multiple layers of strangeness plunged her into an icy abyss, and she began to tremble violently.
"What is here now is the shell named 'Oumae Ichiyume.' Its hidden, non-human interior is being forcibly revealed by the Holy Light," the bishop's voice was like the scraping of cold, iron pages of a bible. "When we found her, she was in the middle of a 'soul-state alteration' ritual. Her 'Kannazuki Ichiyume' surface personality construct had been temporarily uninstalled, like turning a page, to await the inscription of a new, false composition. We have been given a glimpse into the terrifying arts of this heretical family, how they manipulate souls and treat human beings as mere vessels."
Each of the bishop's words was like a red-hot, blasphemous nail driven into the core of Yui's faith, making a sizzling, scorching sound.
"Shell...? Alteration...? Uninstalled... surface personality...?" These cold, inhuman terms echoed madly in her mind, attempting to construct a "truth" about her mother that her soul desperately rejected but could not deny. Simultaneously, the feeling of resonance with her mother's body grew stronger, as if a similar "structure" within her was being awakened.
Just then, the elder priest presiding over the ritual frowned, as if sensing something. He turned to the bishop, his voice carrying through the barrier, laced with incredulous shock and confusion. "Your Grace, the barrier protecting her core consciousness is extremely resilient, bearing the aura of a powerful heretical contract and a collective of怨念 (grudges). But strangely... it is entwined with a spiritual fluctuation of the same origin and nature as Her Holiness, the Saint!? Perhaps... perhaps we can attempt a targeted resonance, using Her Holiness as a spiritual medium, to see the true form."
"No! Absolutely not!" Yui let out a scream born of pure instinct. An immense fear, as if she were foreseeing her own end, seized her, and she scrambled backward.
But the elder priest was faster. The holy staff in his hand had already changed direction. A beam of pure, gentle, yet irresistible holy light shot from its tip, precisely enveloping Yui outside the window, establishing a spiritual bridge and instantly completing a deep, compulsory consciousness link!
Wēng—
A vast, cold torrent of information, belonging to neither Yui's personal memory nor her consciousness, flooded into the depths of her soul like the waters of a bursting River Styx, channeled through that beam of holy light.
"Aaarghhhhh—!" She clutched her head, which felt as if it would split open, and let out a blood-curdling scream. The pain was not physical, but the ultimate terror of her entire "self" being forcibly invaded.
Her vision was filled with images force-fed from the family's collective consciousness:
—A cold altar... surrounded by "relatives" with vacant eyes, chanting strange prayers in perfect, doll-like unison...
—Her own childhood body, placed upon it multiple times... the left leg of the Holy Sword, the right leg of the Holy Staff, her head, her hands... treated like holy relics to be analyzed, connected by countless runic chains that glowed with an abyssal violet light, measuring the divine power flowing within, transcribing its composition, and even attempting to... parse it for replication?
Then, what manifested in Yui's consciousness was the ancient and cold collective consciousness of the Oumae family, a construct of martyrs' grudges and twisted faith. It had been transformed from the lingering hatred and sorrowful wish of Amakusa Shirō, shaping the Oumae family itself.
This collective consciousness had no specific personality. The souls of all Oumae family members were but drops in this sea of darkness, rising and falling with its tides. And the foundation beneath her mask as the Saint "Kannazuki Yui" was "Oumae Yui," a bizarre lighthouse in this dark sea, one they had built with their own hands, shining with stolen light. She was the ultimate proof of the family's theft of a "miracle," their most successful "ultimate creation," a pseudo-divinity birthed from the excellent "maternal vessel" that was Oumae Ichiyume—and therefore, at her very root, she belonged to the Oumae.
"Spiritual pattern identified... Root Consciousness: Oumae Yui. Worldly Form: Kannazuki Yui. Consciousness link established..."
A voice devoid of any living emotion or warmth, like the pronouncement of a verdict, echoed directly in the depths of her soul. It was not her mother's voice. It was the whisper of the family's root consciousness itself! It was her "Creator" calling her true name!
Simultaneously, she felt the divine power within her run rampant. The sacred runes inside her legs—the incarnations of the Holy Sword and Holy Staff—flashed and twisted violently, as if two powers of the same origin yet mutually repulsive were engaged in a fierce civil war. The holy light from the Church's blessings clashed and flickered with wisps of abyssal violet heretical sigils representing the Oumae's Kirishitan origins. The wings of light on her back unfurled uncontrollably before instantly disintegrating into countless motes of light. The halo above her head flickered like a dying candle flame. Her very soul was on the verge of losing its structure, threatening to dissolve into a pure, chaotic torrent of spiritual energy.
Yui's legs forcibly detached, transforming into the Holy Sword and Holy Staff, but the incomplete transformation fed back immense pain and resistance to Yui. She struggled to grip the Holy Sword, but her left leg, which formed its blade, twitched ceaselessly. Her right leg, which formed the Holy Staff, twisted until it possessed no sacred majesty, only a grotesque absurdity. She tried to suppress the mutation with a sacred chant, but the sound in her throat trembled into broken fragments and strange whispers. She could not define herself, as if someone were coldly pulling the strings deep within her heart.
"No... this isn't my prayer!"
Yet the light and darkness continued to merge. The sacred chant was drowned out. The Holy Sword and Holy Staff were ensnared by invisible chains and dragged into an abyss. Yui saw the tip of the sword turn toward her of its own accord, at an inhuman, broken-looking angle, her own toes on the blade's form shooting a betrayed fury at her. The sole of her right foot, as if in sorrow over its own incurable state, broke free from its fixed position on the staff, twisting and curling to its absolute limit, its veins and joints nearly bursting.
Yui understood. Everything was laid bare before her, cruel and naked. The resonance, the repulsion, the strange interference and resistance from within during certain battles, the occasional sense of detachment from her "Kannazuki Yui" existence, the concept of "Oumae Yui" that she instinctively avoided yet kept returning to, and the immense panic that followed... everything was explained. She was never just a Saint chosen by God. She was a living specimen of a miracle, tainted, stolen, and meticulously cultivated by the Oumae family. Her entire life, her faith, her love for her mother—they were nothing more than a fragile foam named "Kannazuki," floating on the bottomless sea of Oumae's grudge.
"Sever the connection! Immediately! In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit!" The bishop's command, a roar of fury, shock, and a hint of fear, seemed to come from a distant heaven.
All the sealing runes in the Chamber of Sacraments erupted with a sun-like brilliance. A grand holy chant, filled with divine might, crashed down like a tsunami. The spiritual bridge connecting Yui to her mother (or rather, to the "Creator" behind her) was violently severed by the overwhelming holy power. The cold torrent of consciousness and the terrifying whispers abruptly ceased.
Yui collapsed to the floor, her body convulsing and trembling as if it had been completely hollowed out, her cold sweat soaking through her monastic robes. She looked at her detached legs, still flickering uncontrollably with a chaotic light that seemed to be fighting her heretical essence. A profound disgust and terror for her own existence, welling up from the deepest part of her soul, overwhelmed her.
"Oumae Yui" had been revealed, but not yet fully activated. The Church, cloaked in holy power, shielded her from the Oumae sea of consciousness—the previous connection had only been to a miniature copy carried by Ichiyume's shell, and Ichiyume herself was still in a state of disassembly, unable to actively control Oumae Yui through the link. Without receiving family instructions, Oumae Yui "knew" the current situation programmatically but could not determine her next move. Thus, she remained in a "standby" state, still operating the surface layer of Kannazuki Yui.
Yui struggled to touch the parts of her body, lost in an extreme internal chaos. This body, this power, this experience called "life"... how much of it was real? How much was just a meticulously scripted operational program and a disguise? Was even her love for her mother just a false signal output by her base programming? As for her mother's love for her...
She looked up, her vision blurred by tears and sweat, toward the Chamber of Sacraments. She saw her mother's head, "opened" to reveal its non-human interior, and the headless body, sitting in wait, as cold and indifferent as a vessel.
For a fleeting moment, Yui saw a glimmer of salvation in the trembling shoulders of her mother's headless body as it was being analyzed—the shell leaned forward slightly, as if subconsciously reaching out to protect her. Yui almost wanted to believe the shell was not entirely empty. But the next instant, the body's posture returned to its rigid, cold state.
This illusion of warmth was crueler than pure coldness.
Tears could not fall, because even the act of crying now seemed suspicious. An insurmountable grief, absurdity, and a complete sense of loneliness consumed her.
Her world had not collapsed. Instead, it had become like a sacred icon splashed with thick, blasphemous ink. All the colors were muddled, twisted, and corrupted, utterly unrecognizable, never to be restored.
However, even the notion that she had been desecrated and defiled was, in essence, absurd. The truth was, "Kannazuki Yui" was only allowed to pretend to exist because "Oumae Yui" had not yet found a motive to take the next step.
She had always been Oumae Yui. It was just that the shell, "Kannazuki Yui," had now been fed information about the truth by the outside world—information Oumae Yui had never given her.
"What... am I?"
This whisper was no longer a question seeking an answer, but a complete negation of her own existence. Its despair was far greater than the roar of any demon in Hell.
Yui bit down hard on her lip. Blood flowed, followed by a sharp pain—at least this pain still belonged to her. At least it could prove she was still here.
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