Staring at the red-haired girl in front of him—her expression radiating with so-called "sincerity"—Avia couldn't help but let a natural smile rise to his lips.
In the world of Type-Moon, Typhon had, after stealing the schematics of Zeus's divine body, cobbled together a counterfeit of his own. The result forced the Olympian gods to flee in haste, seeking refuge in Egypt. But even that victory was short-lived, for Typhon was deceived by the Moirai—the Fates—and, on Mount Nysa, devoured the Day-Fruit (Euphemilos). Afterward, he was defeated by Zeus.
The Day-Fruit's true nature is that of an anti-wish machine—a conceptual ability made manifest.
Whether the girl before him was truly Typhon or Euphemilos no longer mattered. From the moment she tried to trick Avia into making a wish upon her, the silver-haired youth had already seen through her ploy. Everything she had done up to now had been leading to this moment—to get him to make that one wish.
Her initial phrase—"Thou art the thunder that rends the cosmos"—was meant to showcase her overwhelming power, hoping to instill fear or caution in his heart. Then came the talk of him being her "benefactor"—an excuse to offer him a choice. She most likely expected him to say something like:
"Don't let Typhon be reborn."
"I hope you'll stay here."
"Please don't destroy the world."
Whether or not those wishes were sincere didn't matter—only that they were spoken aloud.
Because once a wish was made, her anti-wish ability would reverse it.
Unfortunately for her, Avia knew this well. And he also understood her intentions.
Which meant he also understood what she truly wanted, deep in her heart—freedom.
Freedom from a fate where she had no choice but to be born for the sole purpose of killing the gods. Freedom from a destiny where she could only be used by others.
And so, Avia had already devised a plan—to make her fight alongside him.
"I'll call you Typhon Euphemilos, then. After all," he said calmly, "whether you're Typhon or the Day-Fruit, your grudge is clearly against the Olympian gods."
He didn't expose her lies. Instead, he casually changed the subject.
"So for someone like me, a human carrying the divine aura of the gods, shouldn't you be acting a lot angrier?"
"...It's because you helped me that I'm acting this way. Yes. I'm very grateful. I repay my debts," the girl replied with a smile.
But inside, she was seething with rage.
Damn this human! Of course I know all this! Even if I died again, I would never want to protect or help humanity.
But...
If it weren't for the restrictions of my resurrection being bound to the Day-Fruit's mechanism—that I must receive a single wish from the one who revived me—I would've devoured you already. All your annoying back-and-forth, your smug talking... If I killed you now, I wonder how those gods would react?
Hopefully, with immense suffering.
To make matters worse, even she wasn't sure what she truly was anymore.
Was she Typhon? Or Euphemilos?
As Typhon, she had never taken human form in the Age of Gods—never intended to appear human. But as Euphemilos, her body had fully integrated with Typhon's—perfectly, even. As if she had always been one and the same. It was bizarre. If that were true, then even Echidna... back then, it was just a normal data transfer between units. They were allies, comrades-in-arms.
But those corrupted data fragments that emerged during transmission—technically speaking, they were now her children...
Every time she remembered that, the red-haired girl would be overcome with a strange, indescribable sense of shame.
Still, it didn't matter. She would never see them again. The only thing that hadn't changed was her hatred for the Greek gods. As long as she could take revenge, nothing else mattered.
Hurry up. Make your wish. Let your foolish, wicked desire bring about ruin—
"I already know that the Day-Fruit is an anti-wish mechanism," Avia said quietly. "So clearly, you're trying to trick me."
"...How dare you! I am Typhon—an existence that nearly killed Zeus himself! You think I need to trick a mere human like you? I don't need your pity—!"
"No, Typhon Euphemilos," Avia interrupted her sharply.
His icy blue eyes glinted in the lava's glow, unwavering and sharp.
"You've had it rough."
"You were born as a dragon whose sole purpose was to kill the Olympians. You struggled, fought, even stole Zeus's divine schematics—and finally defeated him. But it was all just a fleeting dream. The power you gained could only reach the limits Zeus himself had designed into you. In the end, your fate was already set. You were never meant to kill him. You were never allowed to win."
"Euphemilos, the Moirai once said this to you: 'Typhon's wish is evil. So if we sacrifice you, everything will be fine. As long as you're devoured, the world is saved.'"
"So what?" she snapped. "Even if you don't wish for anything, I'll still be reborn! I will! No matter how many years pass, I'll come back, and I'll get my revenge!"
"These gods… they're bastards! They just watched me go to my death and did nothing! Why was it only me who had to die?!"
Her golden-black eyes flashed crimson—rage boiling over from the betrayal by the Olympian gods, from her inevitable fate of death. Her grin twisted into something feral—mad and gleaming like a blade's edge, sharp and merciless.
"Whether gods or heroes, I was just the enemy they had to defeat to move forward."
Then suddenly, her tone steadied. The red-haired girl spoke again in an eerily calm voice:
"I despise the sinners who call themselves heroes. I loathe the arrogant gods. I will deny every wish. So go ahead. Do whatever you want. But I will definitely be reborn. And I will have my revenge."
A wish of despair and a wish of hope—in truth, they were the same. Both stemmed from yearning. The only difference was which name people gave to which side. There was no such thing as a wish that, once made, would naturally and smoothly come true. Be it noble or vile, wishes brought only misfortune.
Before the age had ended, on humanity's battlefield, she had seen how creatures could die so pitifully, stripped of all dignity. She had witnessed how they behaved when cornered—ugly, depraved. It was all recorded. All of it known to humankind.
Yet no matter how much she said, she could never make the human before her understand the difference.
Because, in the end, for people like him, honor was measured by defeating the "evil" they were told to fight.
But to her surprise, those calm, blue eyes remained lowered—not shaken, not stirred. Not even a flicker of emotion crossed his face. As if he simply… didn't care.
"And that's why," Avia said softly, "I told you—you've had it tough."
The silver-haired youth looked at the red-haired girl, expression casual, unbothered.
"So I'll say this now: You're free, Typhon Euphemilos. I wish—"
"That you will no longer be free to soar across the skies."