Zeroy had no reason to reject Patchouli's proposal.
In the Highschool of the Dead world, she never explained her actions, never sought to be understood.
Albeit that wasn't because she refused to.
If a few words could prevent needless deaths, she would gladly have spoken them. If she were truly that unwilling, her personality would have been cold and uncaring, never one to save or protect beauty.
In truth, she hated playing the villain, hated feigning indifference.
However, the situation then was too special.
She had only fourteen days. Even without sleep, her strength then couldn't have saved everyone. And gaining trust in such circumstances was impossible. Time spent explaining could save more lives if used to act.
Whether she explained or not, the result would have been the same. With trust, people lived by obeying. Without trust, fear of her power made them obey anyway. Either way, they survived.
But here, things were different. The danger was gone. She herself was now the threat people feared. Fear alone would keep people obedient at first. But prolonged terror would break their minds. A world of lunatics—what would she have protected then? Worse, it would be her fault, all because she found speaking troublesome. The world would end up worse than before.
Gastrea's oppression twisted humanity into pests over ten years. If she replaced them, bringing even deeper despair, what would people become? Fear alone could not sustain stability. They needed hope too. Only then could she achieve her goal: to kill every pest and build a beautiful world for the good.
Patchouli's method was simple. With her magic, they could plant dreams in people's sleep. In the dreams, they saw Zeroy, pure white and faceless, only an outline. They learned the truth: only 40 million survived. Gastrea and the rest were slain by angels—Zeroy and Patchouli. The dead perished for heinous sins. The living were innocent.
In the dream, Zeroy warned them not to commit evil, or they'd share the same fate. Finally, each dream revealed a magic circle, and a voice told them to seek it. Through it, they would reach the Promised Land.
Sometimes a little mysticism saved much effort. Zeroy didn't need careful words, didn't need to weave stories or fake indifference. She only needed to tell the truth. She wouldn't even need to drive people into the circles. The next day, they would find them themselves. The miracle of magic would make them believe. Even the few who doubted would be reassured when others returned safely.
And so, complaints faded. Instead, faith emerged. Zeroy borrowed God's name, already known worldwide. Even the irreligious had heard it. Now, it wasn't an unknown monster who destroyed the world, but God's judgment. Easier to accept.
Borrowing God's name gave people clarity: who died and why, and who could live without fear. No longer aimless terror, instead, awe and reverence, turning to new life.
Faith in power was natural, more so when that power was divine. Not a dark god, but a Father—no, a Mother—of salvation.
As for the dead, the bereaved felt conflicted.
Even so, it was divine judgment, their due punishment. None would hate God for it. For the rest, the thought was simpler: they sinned, they deserved it. God could have erased the world, yet spared them—that was mercy.
After all, God still watched, still cared.
"Mother…"
Zeroy was sipping tea in a room with Patchouli, the Holy Child, and Kisara Tendo, discussing city management. Suddenly, her movements froze, her face odd.
"Mother?" Patchouli asked, puzzled. The others also looked.
"Mm… I felt it. A power of faith. They called me Mother…"
"Uh… Mother…" Patchouli's gaze grew strange, eyes flicking to Zeroy's flat stomach.
"Patchi?! What are you looking at?" Zeroy quickly covered her belly.
"…Nothing." Patchouli turned away. Hard to picture her as a mother—too young, too lively.
"Anyways, it seems many have already taken you as the one from the Bible. Isn't that good? Saves trouble."
"It does save trouble…" Zeroy admitted. They only needed to set teleport nodes and craft dreams. She didn't need to explain herself. Just borrow God's name, tell the truth, and people would understand.
"Still, Mother… Even those children I love—better they call me Sister than Mother…" Zeroy muttered, a little glum.
...
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