NOVEL NEXT Chapter 17: Chapter 10: The Crownless Beast
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"She wore no crown, for her crown was silence."
"He wore no mercy, for his mercy had burned."
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They stood facing each other in the ruined heart of paradise.
The Beast did not move.
Her veil shimmered like water caught in moonlight.
Behind it: not a face, but a thousand memories—smiling mothers, sobbing children, tyrants who wept before execution.
None of them real. All of them stolen.
She was beautiful.
That hurt more than anything.
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Leonas didn't bow. He didn't draw a weapon.
He folded his arms, expression twisted in distaste and amusement—his trademark sneer barely hiding the heat beneath.
"You're smaller than I imagined."
The Beast inclined her head. Petals scattered from her body as if from a broken altar.
"You are wounded," she said with a thousand soft voices.
"You carry grief like a sword. But grief is not truth, child of ash."
"Then what is?" Leonas asked.
"Your lies?"
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Behind them, Akrytos shivered.
The citizens blinked between delusion and agony—unable to decide which was worse.
One man began laughing and crying at once.
A young girl clawed at her own arms, begging for dreams to come back.
The Beast gestured gently. The pain eased. Illusion surged forward again like a tide.
"They suffer in memory. I give them peace."
Leonas's reply was a whisper:
"No. You give them amnesia."
He took a step forward.
The ground beneath him cracked, flowering with ghostly fire.
"There's a difference."
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The air around them shifted.
The Beast floated—barely touching the ground, like a forgotten prayer. Her veil rippled.
"You were not born for kindness."
"Neither were you."
She paused.
"I was born from it. From their wish to never feel pain again. To lock away all suffering."
"And I was born from the wish to survive it," he snapped. "To remember every flame."
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Above them, the fake sun pulsed.
Sion's voice crackled through the Chaldea comms.
"She's not attacking yet. She's… adapting. Learning him."
Mash gripped her shield, anxious.
Ritsuka stared.
"Then he needs to stop giving her lessons."
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The Beast finally moved—not toward him, but toward the people.
One hand extended.
A child reached for her.
His eyes dulled. Smile bloomed. A tear slid down his cheek.
"It doesn't hurt anymore," he whispered.
Leonas appeared between them like a blade.
He struck the illusion.
The light shattered. The child screamed.
"You don't get to choose for them!" he shouted at the Beast.
"You don't get to decide that forgetting is safer!"
"Why not?" the Beast whispered. "It's what they want."
He stepped closer, face alight with fury.
"They wanted to die clean, too. They wanted to rot with dignity. And I didn't let them.
I made them live. I made them crawl, scream, burn—and build. That's why it meant something."
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The Beast faltered.
Her petals dimmed. Her voices quieted.
"You are cruel."
"I was. And I am."
"Because truth is cruel. But it's real."
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The Beast floated back. Her shape flickered—now a priestess, now a mother, now a hero from some other myth. All masks. None her.
"Then take your truth," she said.
"And see what it buys you."
She raised her arms.
The illusion collapsed.
Not gently. Not kindly.
The veil tore. The sky howled.
The perfect city disintegrated in pieces—slums reappeared, blood stained the stone, screams returned to long-dead echoes. The citizens collapsed, convulsing with memory.
Some prayed.
Some cursed.
Some took up stones.
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Leonas didn't flinch.
He stood amid the ruin, watching the Beast spiral upward, ascending above Eretria Minor like a broken halo.
"You could have left them dreaming," she said. "And they would have called you Savior."
"I didn't ask to be anything," he growled.
"I just want them awake."
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A pause. The world held its breath.
And then—
The Beast roared.
The sound split the air like mourning and thunder.
Her form cracked. A second, monstrous shape rose behind her—too large, too many limbs, a tangle of thorns and faces all wailing in harmony.
"Then face the cost of memory, King of Ash."
She descended.
The battle began.
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