Multiverse's Holy Right

Aleister Crowley—this man had countless flaws and shortcomings, far from the image of a 'perfect person.'

Yet despite all his imperfections, there was one thing about Aleister that commanded universal respect: his unwavering love for his family.

This man appeared cold, almost devoid of human emotion, but that was merely a disguise for the profound love buried deep within his heart. Aleister was a man who would sacrifice everything for his family, even if it meant standing against the world.

His desire to eradicate magic and bring down the Magic Gods was not born of lofty ambition or ideals—it was simply because the existence of magic had caused his eldest daughter to die before she was even born.

Araya was a man of such simple purity. For a child who had died before even being born, he would stand tall against the entire world, seeking only to take revenge on this magical world that denied his daughter's existence, to shatter this fate he utterly refused to accept.

In the instant Roy vanished, he saw Aleister's true nature.

He was a man forever living in failure and setbacks. No matter what Aleister attempted, no matter how meticulously he planned his decades-long schemes, he would inevitably encounter obstacles in the process and meet with failure in the end. Yet from each failure, he would rise again to continue his inevitably unsuccessful life.

This was a man so pitiful and laughable it became tragic. Only when Roy recognized his father's true face did he finally laugh.

For a man like Aleister who loved his family so deeply, having killed his own son with his own hands—even if accidental—would likely become a nightmare he could never forget for the rest of his life.

This irresponsible father—this was the greatest revenge against him!

...

"Brother... Brother? Roy?"

Laura Stuart emerged from the storage room, wiping her delicate hands with a faded yet clean towel, calling her brother's name with confusion. Normally when she called for him, her elder brother would respond immediately, but today Roy strangely made no sound at all.

When she entered the living room and looked at the chair where her brother usually sat, it was already empty.

The confusion slowly faded from Laura's face as she silently walked to the table.

On the table, the Book of the Law was burning without fire, gradually turning to ashes.

Laura knew that for a grimoire, this meant all its knowledge had been completely acquired by another—this magical tome had lost its purpose.

The Book of the Law completely turned to dust, the last part to disappear being where the author's name was signed—Aleister Crowley.

Laura gently touched the chair that still retained Roy's warmth, then left the house without looking back.

***

St. George's Cathedral in London served as the headquarters of the Anglican Church, one of the three major branches of Christianity with 900 million followers worldwide.

At some point, Laura had changed out of her simple dress into a beige nun's habit.

The habit seemed overly large for a fifteen-year-old girl, as if not tailored for her frame. Yet as Laura ascended the steps of St. George's Cathedral, her body underwent dramatic changes.

Her beautiful pale golden hair, originally reaching her ankles, suddenly grew rapidly to nearly two and a half times her height. Her previously underdeveloped figure transformed from malnourished thinness to voluptuous curves. The fifteen-year-old girl seemed to leap through time, maturing instantly into an eighteen-year-old with the most exquisitely alluring feminine form.

Laura folded her long, eerily beautiful hair from her ankles back behind her head, then folded it back again from behind. Even after being folded twice, her luxurious locks still reached her waist.

A silver-white hairpin appeared in her hand from nowhere, securing her hair in place. At the same time, the folded strands perfectly concealed the demonic face hidden within her tresses.

St. George's Cathedral was pitch black, eerily silent.

Laura slowly walked down the aisle toward the crucifix, her head bowed as if in prayer. After a long pause, she suddenly snapped her left fingers.

Snap!

One by one, the candles in St. George's Cathedral ignited, their light dispelling the darkness. Unnoticed until now, several men and women in monastic robes knelt behind Laura, speaking reverently: "...Archbishop, what are your orders?"

"Relay my command: find that vile, despicable magician and kill him!"

Laura's voice retained its innocent sweetness, like that of a naive little girl—so warm and approachable that one could easily forget the vast gap in their statuses.

She was the Archbishop of the Anglican Church, the true ruler of the faith, the spiritual leader of 900 million people worldwide!

Yet, starkly contrasting her sweet tone was the chilling ruthlessness in her words, "...Kill him. Kill him at any cost!"

The kneeling Anglican magicians hesitated. One scratched his head and said, "...Archbishop, your order seems beyond our capabilities. Every magician in the world is searching for that man. If his whereabouts were so easily discovered, he would have been dead long ago."

"...With just our Anglican forces, we can't pinpoint his location. We may need to collaborate with the Roman Catholic Church and the Russian Orthodox Church."

Facing their Archbishop, these subordinate magicians showed no fear, speaking to her as if she were a friend—precisely the atmosphere Laura desired, a persona she had crafted for herself.

"Aleister Crowley will come to England. He must come to England—because there is a reason he cannot avoid it. Mobilize all Anglican forces. The moment he sets foot on this land, we must find him, locate him, and eliminate him!"

Laura spoke with unwavering confidence, as if holding all the cards.

"Yes, Archbishop!"

The magicians didn't question her certainty. Though outwardly lacking reverence, they trusted their Archbishop implicitly.

As the Anglican magicians withdrew, the candles in St. George's Cathedral extinguished once more. Laura stood in the darkness, tilting her head to gaze at the crucifix, her expression tinged with complexity.

"This was all part of my plan from the beginning. Events are unfolding as I intended—using... to lure Aleister Crowley and fulfill that contract. So why do I feel so hollow inside?"

"...Roy, my brother... my brother..."

The Archbishop of the Anglican Church pressed a hand to her chest, murmuring softly.

***

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