Chapter 135: Those Who Weep, Those Who Watch

After giving Shushu a name, I decided it was time to go home.

But no sooner had I turned my back than ErMut's legion of mutants appeared.

We organized a final farewell, worthy of Sally, fitting for what she had meant to all of us.

And then... our paths diverged.

The legion of mutants on one side.

Us on the other.

The next day, around 3 p.m., under an oddly peaceful sky, everyone was gathered at the Monor City cemetery.

Sally's adoptive father.

Mother.

Grafay.

Salomé.

Ramos.

And even a large part of the Liuly family.

All were there, frozen before the white stone that now bore her name.

Around Sally's grave, sobs rose like a tide.

Her loss... was a collective wound.

Sally was not just a friend: she had that rare gift of welcoming broken hearts, instinctively sensing who deserved a second chance.

She read souls like others read books.

Salomé, tears streaming down her cheeks, threw herself into Mother's arms:

— Mom… I miss Sally… so much…

Not far off, Bakuran wept silently, his face contorted with pain, as if struggling against something he could not break.

Sally's adoptive father slowly removed his glasses.

He wiped his eyes, then murmured in a trembling voice:

— To think… we were finally starting to have a real father-daughter relationship…

Words that struck like daggers.

And around, other faces, other griefs.

All crying for Sally.

A shared tragedy, an absence impossible to fill.

A little further, at the edge of the woods, Grafay had isolated himself.

Hands in pockets, hood over his head, he stared at the sky without a word.

Yuki approached softly.

— Hey, Grafay… what are you doing there? Why isolate yourself?

Grafay jumped, inhaling sharply, as if caught red-handed.

— G-g-get away, Yuki!

Yuki looked at him, eyes narrowed, suspecting what he wanted to hide.

— Grafay… you're not… crying, are you?

Grafay lowered his head and awkwardly wiped his eyes:

— Tsss… don't say nonsense, I just… have something in my eyes, okay?!

Yuki smiled gently:

— Haha… I thought you couldn't get attached to a girl… And here you are, broken down, big tough Grafay…

Grafay waved his arms, embarrassed:

— That's not true, idiot!

Yuki laughed softly, lowering her eyes:

— It's okay, it's okay… I get it.

Silence.

Then her voice resumed, softer, almost trembling:

— She was really special, huh…

More silence.

— She managed to tame someone like you. And that… that meant a lot.

Grafay's back remained turned, but his shoulders began to shake.

Yuki smiled, eyes moist:

— The albino cactus… Who's going to call you that now?

Grafay, still staring into the distance, let out a long sigh, then whispered:

— Do you know where Nairo is?

Yuki raised an eyebrow.

— Nairo?

The wind blew softly, making her hair dance as she looked up at the gray sky.

— He said… he wanted to be alone for a while.

A little further away, perched in a tree, Nairo was indeed alone.

Jacket on his shoulders, face turned to the sky, his eyes shed silent tears.

Veins bulged on his forehead, as if his sorrow struggled not to explode.

— Thank you for everything... Sally…

His voice was lost in the wind.

Even further from the cemetery, in a secluded area that people naturally avoided, Sakolomé had settled alone, apart from everything.

He sat against an ancient stone, Shushu nestled in his hair, peacefully asleep.

Sakolomé wore a black pullover and simple dark sweatpants. His legs were relaxed, crossed in front of him.

On his knees lay a yellowed journal, Sally's. He opened it silently.

"Dear diary, today I met a somewhat strange group of boys. Grafay, Yuki, and Nairo. They are prisoners, but strangely… I don't sense evil in them. It's such a contrast…"

He turned the page slowly.

"Hello dear diary. Today I saw Sakolomé again… after all these years. I am so happy. It's incredible…"

Another page.

"Sakolomé's little sister and her family are amazing. He is so lucky. I envy him a little. I want to be part of this wonderful family too… I am Sakolomé's future wife."

A discreet, sad smile stretched Sakolomé's lips. He turned another page.

"Dear diary… today, things are not good. I spoke harshly to Sakolomé. His brother went astray and… I think I said things I didn't mean. I feel so guilty."

He stopped. His hands trembled. Tears flowed.

He closed the journal, pressed it to his heart, then burst into sobs:

— I miss Sally!!!

Silence answered for a moment.

Then suddenly, a familiar voice, resting on a tombstone behind him, growled with annoyance:

— You, Sakolomé, you sure like to cry a lot. It's unbelievable!

Sakolomé, eyes still wet, clenched his fists:

— Velda, you can't understand how much I miss her!!!

Perched on a stone, Velda sighed with weariness:

— You humans are really fragile… Aren't you, Gorgonax?

At her feet, a small black goat with red eyes nodded gently, as if approving with a blasé air.

A little further away, Rivhiamë had also settled on a tombstone, legs crossed, chin resting on her palm:

— Meh... Humans don't live forever, I don't understand why they stubbornly love each other so much, when they always end up dying.

Sakolomé wiped his tears with the back of his sleeve, still shaken:

— I don't get it… Normally, when you transcend body and mind, you're supposed to have surpassed death, right? So how can you still die?

Velda looked away, absent-minded:

— Because the body, mind, soul, the Story, and even the Being… all that, even if detached from mere biology, remains within mortality's framework. They are manifestations of existence. But existence itself is not the end of the road.

Sakolomé raised an eyebrow:

— And the true immortals, then…? What are they like?

Velda crossed her arms, now staring at the horizon:

— True immortals are those who have none of these attributes. No body, no mind, no soul, no story, not even a being. They are… something else. Chōshinku. They don't live: they persist. They don't exist: they are beyond existence.

She briefly glanced at Rivhiamë:

— Even you, Rivhiamë, who exist from a higher Story, you remain, in the end… mortal. Shushu too. A still fragile form, but tied to these structures.

She then looked up at the small form nestled on Sakolomé's head. Shushu, tiny and deeply asleep, moved slightly with each breath.

Velda grimaced.

— And… who's the idiot who dared to call a demon "Shushu"? Seriously. That's the worst name I've heard in centuries.

Rivhiamë burst out laughing, hysterical:

— I told you it was a terrible name!!

Sakolomé, indignant, blushed:

— Tss! You really think your cheap criticism will get to me?!

Velda shrugged:

— Whatever.

A silence passed. The wind rose slightly, rustling the trees around them.

Then, in a deeper voice, Velda resumed:

— You chose to keep Shushu, Sakolomé. Do you really intend to take responsibility for that to the end? Adopting a demon from Hell, as small as she is now, can become… very dangerous. One day, she might not be as cute as she is now.

She stared him straight in the eyes:

— Do you think you have broad enough shoulders for that?

Sakolomé, in a calm voice:

— Relax. Rivhiamë, Gorgonax, you… you're all demons from Hell. So you'll know better than anyone what's good or bad for Shushu. I have nothing to fear.

Velda, squinting suspiciously:

— Don't tell me you plan to exploit us, huh?

Gorgonax, the little demonic goat, blew a thin plume of smoke from her nostrils, clearly agreeing with Velda.

Sakolomé, with a playful smile:

— No… I'm just saying you're like big brothers. Or distant cousins. I'm the adoptive father. I'm the one who will watch over her. By the way… what does a demon from Hell eat?

Rivhiamë, composed:

— A bit of everything. But above all, never let her taste souls. If she becomes fond of them, she could become a soul predator, and then… even humans would be in danger.

Velda, shrugging:

— Eating isn't vital for our survival as demons. But if you want to feed her "like humans," go ahead. Pizza, hot dogs, sweets… You can go for it. Even if she eats like ten ogres, she won't gain weight. Those kinds of rules don't apply to us.

Then Velda slowly turned toward Rivhiamë, intrigued:

— Tell me… You and Sakolomé, weren't you "one"? How come you're separated now?

Rivhiamë answered calmly:

— Unlike Niyus before, Sakolomé never lost his fundamental states. He kept his body, mind, soul, story, and being. So even if we merge, we remain two consciousnesses. With Niyus, everything inside him was destroyed, so I had to substitute his consciousness through my own states. That's why we formed a single being.

Velda nodded thoughtfully:

— I see…

Rivhiamë, suddenly more serious:

— There's something else I wanted to talk to you about. About Shushu.

Velda raised an eyebrow:

— What now?

Rivhiamë, eyes slightly narrowed:

— When she was still inside Grijan's body, Shushu was just a fetus. An embryo of Mother Lilith. Does… Mother Lilith allow her children to possess bodies even before being born?

Silence.

Velda, now genuinely concerned:

— You're joking, right?

Rivhiamë shook her head.

Velda, crossing her arms, eyes piercing:

— No demon can snatch a fetus from Mother Lilith without being executed on the spot. If that fetus was in Grijan, then… either Lilith herself placed it there, or it's the work of a Demon Emperor, or even Azazel. In any case, someone powerful enough to act in her shadow… or with her consent.

Rivhiamë, thoughtful:

— Do you really think that's possible?

Velda, gravely:

— It's not just "possible." It's extremely worrying. Because if Shushu was born of Lilith but secretly placed in a living vessel… then she's not just a simple demon. She's probably a key. Or a message. Or a bet on the future. In short, it could mean so many things.

Sakolomé, still sitting on that funerary stone, raised his eyes to Velda and Rivhiamë.

— What exactly are you talking about? Who is… "Mother Lilith"?

Rivhiamë, serious, crossed her arms:

— She is the Matriarch of Hell. The original mother of all demons. She's my mother… Velda's, Gorgonax's… and Shushu's.

Sakolomé, eyes wide:

— What? Seriously? And… Azazel? The Demon Emperors? Who are they?

Velda, cold gaze, answered as if stating a truth few mortals could hear without shivering:

— Azazel is the current King of Hell. Lilith's husband. The Father of Demons. As for the Demon Emperors… they are entities beyond comprehension. Forces so powerful they could become "Mythical Terrors."

Sakolomé, intrigued, asked softly:

— What is that supposed to mean, exactly?

Velda, eyes distant:

— It means they can wipe out entire races, even mythical ones. They don't kill with cruelty, but by nature. They embody laws, abysses, or abominations. Fortunately… very few remain. Today, only one Emperor is known in Hell: Raktabīja Rāvana.

Silence.

— A monster with fifty heads and a hundred arms, or more. A living nightmare. Even Hell… fears that he might break free from his prison. Because if he did… an apocalypse would be inevitable.

Sakolomé felt a weight press on his chest. He looked at the ground, his gaze empty, almost suffocated by this truth.

— So there is no one capable of defeating him…?

Velda, relentless:

— Maybe yes. Maybe no. But I'm only a Demon King… not a seer.

Sakolomé, still stunned:

— And the Demon Kings… compared to the Emperors?

Velda let out a bitter laugh:

— No comparison. We are nonexistent in their eyes. To them, we are… ashes before the ember.

A long silence followed. Then Sakolomé, slowly raising his head, looked at Shushu sleeping in his hair, a tiny demon born of a primordial entity. He murmured, more to himself than to the others:

— This world… it is so vast. So terrifying. Shushu alone could have annihilated humanity… and yet, there are beings capable of wiping out all existence, on every level.

He clenched his fists, his gaze hardened, no longer with sadness, but with determination.

— I must become stronger… No matter what it costs me.

Velda and Rivhiamë, momentarily surprised, exchanged a glance, then a sly smile.

Velda, mocking:

— Tss… Don't act like you're going to change anything, weakling.

Rivhiamë, laughing:

— You're still our fragile little human after all… but hey, maybe you have some potential.