Chapter 33: A Blurred Self
The 317th time.
Today, Funis had failed again.
Just as Chescia had previously told Stacie, this had become a kind of peculiar greeting between them.
As long as Funis had the appropriate weapon at hand, she would, without hesitation, launch an attack on Chescia the moment she suddenly appeared—regardless of the time or place.
No matter how harmonious, warm, or sweet their previous parting had been.
The next encounter would still be like meeting an enemy.
She would act obedient and well-behaved in front of that woman, but the hatred and loathing were always deeply buried in her heart, constantly breeding and growing whenever she was alone, until they transformed into a ferocious beast that devoured everything.
But Funis’s challenges and defiance were not without cost—Chescia was never so forgiving.
Most of the time, these attacks were trivial in Chescia’s eyes, posing no real threat. Her counterattacks were restrained, yet that didn’t mean the Witch never made a fatal move.
Funis had been killed by Chescia more than once.
She had lost even more memories.
Her parents’ faces, her sister’s name…
Each cycle of death and rebirth etched itself deeply into Funis’s soul. The feeling of precious things slipping through her fingers like sand, the futile reach to retrieve them—illusory and powerless.
Yet Funis never regretted it.
This was the road she had to walk. Until she killed Chescia, until she destroyed herself completely, she would never give up.
But a failed challenger must always receive punishment—Chescia wasn’t always so patient.
That too was part of the rules.
Just like now, verdant vines coiled upward along the length of her long, white silk-covered legs, slowly slipping beneath the ruffled formal dress, creeping ever closer to sensitive, vulnerable places.
Funis could only glare furiously, face flushed red, at the dark-haired girl slowly walking toward her.
Fragrant flowers bloomed beneath the girl’s feet like clusters—every step symbolizing the rebirth of beauty, as decay and ruin behind her transformed bit by bit into flourishing blossoms.
The girl tucked a lock of hair behind her cheek, leaned down, and plucked a white lily at her feet, gently inhaling its scent.
She finally stood before Funis.
“You did wonderfully. That level of skill is already enough to defeat any non-Transcendent being. Even a small portion of the Seventh Sequence won’t be your match.” Chescia tucked the tiny lily into Funis’s thick silver hair. “Though I always believed you could do it, thinking back now—it really is quite the feat, isn’t it?”
She referred to Funis defeating the Eighth Sequence of the Generosity Path while still being at the Ninth Sequence.
Though Funis had turned it into reality, from the perspective of common sense, it still seemed like an impossible tale—like a three-year-old child toppling a full-grown boxer, utterly unbelievable.
“It was just… some tricks…” Funis’s breathing grew sticky and sweet.
The vines brushed against her, her flushed face deepening in hue. Her calves trembled lightly, too weak to fully straighten, yet the vines continued to bind her, forcing her to maintain a tall, upright posture—her leg and abdomen curves bound tightly into a seductive form.
This wasn’t how it should be.
To show such a submissive, delicate appearance just from a little teasing and play, as if deliberately trying to please Chescia with pitiful cuteness—this wasn’t how she should behave.
Yet that last pathetic internal struggle was swiftly extinguished the moment the Witch’s hands slid up her slender waist.
“These little tricks will be your tools for survival from now on.” Chescia pulled her in, cheek brushing as she gently bit Funis’s reddened, soft earlobe. “Accept them. Get used to them. Forget your past. You’re no longer that lofty, upright High Inquisitor.”
“Hah… watching me become more and more… more like a Witch… does that please you…?” Funis tilted her gaze toward Chescia defiantly, uttering venomous words through lilting breaths.
But the vines suddenly trembled and jolted fiercely.
“Guuh♡—!?”
Funis cried out softly in shock.
Just that one moment stripped her of pride and dignity—her eyes rolled slightly as she leaned into the Witch’s arms. Her top hat fell gently to the floor, and within the empty theater, the faint trickle of something could be heard.
“Exactly, little cupcake~ Your contrast—so tough then so soft—always drives me wild.” Chescia toyed with the girl’s long hair. Shimmering silver threads flowed slowly through her fingers. “If one day you suddenly became completely obedient, I might just throw you away.”
The vines did not stop, and the soft trickling continued intermittently.
The girl buried her face in Chescia’s chest, clutching her sleeves with small hands, her delicate body trembling, her breaths mixed with quiet sobs.
“Hm? Crying?” Chescia stroked the back of her head, whispering gently, “Just teasing. I would never throw you away. Remember? I promised I’d wait for you.”
“Mmh♡～hah♡～”
But Funis’s reply was a soft, euphoric moan.
Just like that, the girl in the arms of the black-haired Witch experienced pain mingled with pleasure. The desolate theater that had been a battlefield was now filled with a sweetness unique to girls alone.
But it shouldn’t be this way.
Funis knew she shouldn’t keep going like this.
She accepted the Witch’s care, the Witch’s teachings. She had gotten used to living by the Witch’s side—thinking day and night of how to defeat her, how to kill her—yet the moment they were apart even briefly, she would unconsciously begin to miss her.
As though something invisible gripped her heart tightly from deep within.
She could no longer tell whether that longing was hatred or attachment.
It was absolutely wrong.
She should not be like this.
But Funis still couldn’t suppress the surging emotions and thoughts within her. She was no longer that solemn, rigid High Inquisitor—now she was a newborn Succubus barely a year old, a fragile and delicate girl.
What she had lost through repeated deaths and rebirths wasn’t just memory—it included the personality of Sera Fred.
She was becoming blurred—the boundary between Funis and Sera was fading.
She wanted to be doted on.
She had just defeated a powerful foe that should have been impossible to overcome.
It was a remarkable leap in progress. She wanted Chescia to praise her. She wanted to act spoiled to Chescia like a little sister. She wanted to be praised by Chescia as an elder sister—just that.
But she couldn’t.
She hadn’t completely forgotten that she had once been Sera Fred. She hadn’t completely forgotten that this woman had killed her family. She hadn’t yet erased all the deep, bitter past.
Funis hated herself like this.
She hated her twisted, conflicted self.
What followed would likely be an endless cycle—she would challenge and fail countless times, only to yield again beneath the Witch’s caress. Hatred and infatuation would continue to tangle and deepen.
And so it would go.
She could no longer leave the Witch’s side.
No matter how many times it repeated, perhaps Funis would still end up like this: even with her face flushed, eyes misted, drowning in indulgence, she would still stubbornly raise her head to look at Chescia.
And then say to her in a low voice:
“Please kill me.”
She pleaded.
Please kill her.
Don’t let her continue to sink into this degradation.