Crazy Britain:They’re All Raising Me

[Detection complete: Nightmare Embodiment - "Wrathful Echoes of Innocent Death" has vanished.]

[Target eliminated. Reward distribution commencing.]

[Player gains: Basic Strength Enhancement I, Permanent Trait: Hunter's Sigil.]

"...So in the end, it still came down to 'the power of love,' huh?"

"...How painfully cliché."

While the "mother and daughter" duo—whose combined age wasn't even five—shared an emotional embrace, Guinevere lay half-dead off to the side, the pain from his injuries drilling deep into his bones.

To be honest, he had considered trying the "power of love" solution early on... or rather, if it had been a younger version of himself, the one who still burned with idealism, he might've tried it without hesitation.

But... what had changed him?

Guinevere stared blankly at the ceiling, the thought slowly unfurling in his aching mind.

Perhaps it began after graduation, once he stepped into the chaos of adult life. After seeing all manner of people, all kinds of situations, the transformation had taken root.

He came to understand that the world was complicated—people even more so.

This wasn't some line you recited like a mantra after seeing it in a textbook. No. It was a truth etched into you through lived experience: after you've been lied to, betrayed, left behind, seen paths split, and watched once-close companions turn into strangers.

In time, he realized even the self is complicated. Everyone believes they know themselves, especially the young—but more often than not, they don't. A few stories, a few dramas, and suddenly they think they understand the world, brimming with fantasies about the future—unrealistic ones.

And so he learned that trying to redeem enemies through love was... frankly, bullshit.

Everyone has their own position, their own tangled web of ties and responsibilities. People extract value from that web—but they're also entangled in it, bound by obligations, expectations, consequences.

Between people, there is always a wall.

Not one that shatters with a punch or kind word, but a complex, layered wall built from circumstance, identity, and the needs of survival.

To change someone, you must understand where they stand. You must consider their web, the reality they face, the future they could have—not just the wish in their heart.

You can't solve complex problems with simplistic thinking anymore. The threads are too many. Even a "good" solution rarely satisfies all conditions.

For Jack, it was no different. One hug couldn't save her. She was a Servant—an Echo of the Dead—bound by a past that could never change. Her fate had long been sealed; she would never grow up.

She was a child sacrificed to the march of the Industrial Revolution. Her tragedy couldn't be undone. Sure, her future might still hold some variance—but it would never be as simple as a few sweet words or a warm embrace. What followed would be countless challenges, relentless and painful, chipping away at the fleeting passion born from righteousness.

Guinevere had considered all this. And he reached a conclusion:

He couldn't save her.

Giving her empty hope with hollow reassurances would only be crueler.

So sending her back to the Throne of Heroes—ending her short, confused, and painful existence—might have been the kindest thing he could do.

"But... it seems I learned something today. Looks like my perspective has become a bit too narrow."

Watching the genuine smiles on Mordred and Jack's faces, Guinevere slowly shook his head.

Maybe it was only someone like Mordred—still capable of dreaming—who could make a choice no adult would.

To Jack, she was simply a child who had never truly been born. She didn't understand what was "irreversible," or "inevitable," or "how the world works." She didn't care about the "greater good" or "complex reality."

All she wanted... was a hug.

And little Mordred, with her own simple heart, gave her just that.

Then, like a fairytale ending, everything was miraculously resolved.

Mordred became Jack's mom, and everyone lived happily ever after—at least for now.

...Though, Mordred was still a child herself. What did she know about raising one? Especially one as troublesome as Jack?

"But, oh well..."

Guinevere murmured,

"This outcome isn't bad at all."

Let the 'adults' like him worry about what comes after the storybook ending.

Elsewhere, unseen by those still basking in their brief peace, a man in a white robe appeared behind them.

He was tall and androgynously handsome, long black hair braided and draped lazily over one shoulder—a deceptively dangerous style.

Stroking his chin as he observed the scene, he muttered,

"What a shame... I just got here, and the Nightmare Spawn's signature has already disappeared? And..."

His gaze swept across the battlefield. Suddenly, his brow arched.

"Huh... that guy lying on the ground—isn't he the one who snatched the role Machili was aiming for? Interesting... The energy around him is odd. I wonder what would happen if he merged with the 'Core'..."

He glanced down at the radiant, irregularly shaped crystal in his palm and sighed.

"Really a shame... I was looking forward to seeing how Jack the Ripper's dream-form would interact with the Core. She's... unique, after all. Not like the others."

A cruel gleam flickered in his eyes.

"Morbid curiosity, perhaps—but I really wanted to see it."

He flipped open a silver pocket watch, checking the time with another long sigh.

"If only I'd arrived a little earlier... But now, it's too late."

"Because... 'that moment' is nearly here."

Guinevere suddenly shuddered.

He could feel a gaze—one cold and clinical—boring into his back.

Like the eyes of someone examining a cadaver on a dissection table.

He turned his head with great effort... but saw only dense fog.

...What lay beyond it?

He stared into the mist for a long time. Nothing appeared.

No sounds. No movement.

Eventually, he began to doubt whether he had felt anything at all.

"Hey! You alive, or what?!"

Mordred's voice snapped him back to reality. She turned back toward him at last, cradling Jack in her arms. The child was already asleep, a peaceful smile on her face.

...Though Guinevere wondered how she could sleep soundly with Mordred's armor plating for a pillow.

"You've got that look on your face like you're thinking something insulting."

Mordred shot him a glare. But after noticing his injuries, she sighed and hurried over.

"How bad is it?"

"Depends on what you're hoping for."

Guinevere replied weakly,

"If you mean am I about to die—probably not.

If you mean am I okay—then no, I could really use a defibrillator."

"Ah, good. Glad you're not dead!"

"Wait—what about the second part?!"

"Just kidding! I'll grab a med kit." Mordred turned to leave, but paused, glancing back at him.

"Hey... I just realized. I never asked your name, did I? Kinda rude calling you 'hey' all the time."

"Heh," Guinevere smirked. "I was starting to think you'd never ask."

"Forget it then."

She turned to go, took a few steps... then looked back again.

"So what is it?"

"Ha..." he chuckled.

"Stop smiling like an idiot and tell me already," Mordred huffed.

"Alright, alright. No more teasing," he said.

"My name is Guine—"

A sudden gust of wind howled through the clearing.

...Wind?

Guinevere's eyes widened just as it lifted him off the ground. Mordred lunged and grabbed him.

"What the hell's going on?!"

He tried to speak, but the force of the wind and his blood loss left him dizzy and mute.

When the wind finally settled, the mist had cleared.

For the first time in years, the "Eternal Fog" over London lifted—revealing the city's full form beneath a blood-red moon, surrounded not by stars, but pitch-black holes in the sky.

"What the hell?! Why's the moon that color? And those holes... did the sky get stabbed or something?!"

Mordred gaped.

Guinevere opened the system menu, scrolling back to a section he'd dismissed earlier as flavor text:

[You have unveiled a piece of the truth—

You are not awake.

You are trapped in a nightmare.

At its end, "It" will descend, devouring all within.]

[To halt the coming of "It," you must begin hunting the Nightmare Embodiments scattered across E.T.]

"An endless nightmare..."

"Huh? What're you talking about?" Mordred asked.

"I mean..."

The earth began to quake violently.

All across the skyline, massive spires shot up from the ground—so tall they pierced the heavens even from across the city. The blood moon descended slowly, aligning with the tallest tower—like a colossal beast being speared by ancient stone.

"—Time's up."

At Guinevere's words, a bell tolled.

Wind howled once more. Mordred staggered. Guinevere collapsed completely.

"What time?! What are you even talking about?!"

Mordred bent down to lift him—only for Guinevere to raise a weak hand and point to the sky.

"There."

"Huh?"

She looked up.

And saw it:

A black star expanding in the sky, rapidly growing until it eclipsed the city itself.

"Shit!"

Mordred grabbed him, "We've gotta go! Now!"

But Guinevere didn't move. He simply waved a hand and smiled faintly.

"See you in reality."

The black star surged downward—devouring them in an instant.

Light vanished.

Sound was stripped away.

Everything was consumed by absolute silence—

Until a ripple of unseen force swept over the void.

And then... sight returned.

Guinevere opened his eyes, finding himself in a vaguely familiar room.

In front of him, an open wardrobe.

From it, a long-dead corpse slid out.

Its hollow eyes stared straight at him.