Multiverse's Holy Right

December 1st, 1947.

In a rural village along the River Severn in England, inside a dilapidated thatched shed, Aleister Crowley lay sprawled on a pile of scattered hay. His breathing was labored, his entire body drenched in blood, like a broken puppet.

Life was fading from his body. It wouldn't be long before he welcomed death.

"How pathetic… In the end, I still failed… This is the price I must pay for killing my own child with my own hands."

Aleister lay there, limbs splayed, unconsciously reminiscing about the past thirty years of his life.

In 1919, Aleister had been hiding in Egypt, laying the groundwork for his grand plan. Yet, he never expected that one day, he would encounter a stranger within the "Imaginary Phase."

He assumed the other party had deciphered The Book of the Law and thus managed to locate his hidden phase. Without hesitation, he unleashed his strongest spell—one capable of triggering a force ten times greater than the Big Bang—targeting the enemy as a "Magic God."

Aleister succeeded. He was the greatest magician of the 20th century, capable of opposing Magic Gods with a mortal body.

Aleister also failed. Because the one he killed was not an "enemy," but his own flesh and blood—his son, someone who should have been called family.

The moment he saw the other's true form, whether through genetic inheritance, the flow of blood, or the resonance of magic and soul, Aleister knew without a doubt that this was his child. A child born to him by one of his countless lovers.

At that moment, Aleister completely lost his mind. He abandoned his human reason, discarded the beginnings of his grand plan, and without hesitation, left Egypt to return to the land of England—a place of extreme danger for him—to fulfill his final duty as a father: to seek the traces of the child he had mistakenly killed.

He knew what awaited him—the pursuit of every magician in the world. As the "Greatest Heretic," who sought to eradicate magic and had the power to do so, no wielder of magic would ever let him go.

Among those hunting him, none were more fanatical and relentless than the Anglicans of England.

Aleister was strong, but in the end, he was still only human. From 1919 until now, 1947, Aleister had fought against the magicians of the world for twenty-eight long years. And just the day before, the exhausted and depleted Aleister was finally ambushed by the Anglican assassination squad, leaving him grievously wounded in this rural corner of England.

"...This really is the perfect ending for me."

Aleister felt neither sorrow nor despair. All his despair had been filled to the brim twenty-eight years ago, the moment he killed his own child. He knew exactly what his life was—an endless series of failures and setbacks.

But failure and setbacks could never defeat Aleister Crowley.

Whether it was the Magic Gods capable of annihilating and distorting all things, the path more treacherous than scaling the heavens, or any desperate predicament—none could defeat this terrifyingly powerful man. The only ones who could ever overcome Aleister were his family!

Click—

The door of the rural thatched cottage creaked open. Listening to the approaching footsteps outside, Aleister remained eerily calm even in the face of death, even managing to crack a frivolous joke.

"...Which lucky soul has found me? The Anglican Church? The Roman Catholic Church? The Russian Orthodox Church? Or perhaps some magical cabal? I'd wager the Anglican Church is the most likely candidate."

"...Take my head and claim your reward. I imagine it's still quite valuable in this world."

The person entering remained silent, as if trying to suffocate Aleister with an oppressive atmosphere of dread.

Then, at last, Aleister saw who it was—

"A... frog?"

Aleister stared in astonishment at the frog-faced old man standing before him. Clad in black-framed glasses and slightly portly, this was someone Aleister had certainly never encountered before. The old man didn't resemble any of the mages who had been hunting him down.

"Calling someone a frog the moment you meet them—how rude."

Grumbling in dissatisfaction, the old man stepped forward and scrutinized Aleister with a grave expression. "...Such severe injuries. A moment later, and you'd have departed this world."

"Who are you?"

Now as weak as a newborn, Aleister felt little vigilance toward this old man who could end his life at any moment. He simply asked the question calmly.

"Who am I?"

The old man murmured the words, then turned his gaze toward the River Severn flowing not far from the cottage. It was as if he could see the surging waters, or the friend who, a century ago had fearlessly burned the opium that had broken the nation's backbone—laughing and reciting poetry in the face of tyranny and death.

Shaking his head, he smiled. "...I no longer use my old name. If you'd like, you may call me Heaven Canceller."

"Heaven Canceller?"

What an audacious name. Yet Aleister didn't laugh.

"Indeed. Time is short—save your breath. I need to stabilize you now."

With that, the old man calling himself Heaven Canceller crouched down, preparing to administer emergency treatment.

"My body is beyond saving. No magic can heal me now."

Aleister continued calmly. He understood his injuries all too well.

"If magic won't work, then we'll use science!"

Heaven Canceller dismissed the objection without hesitation.

"Science..."

Aleister studied this chance-met old man, and the dim light in his eyes flickered back to life.

He had no desire to die—not out of fear, but simply because his purpose remained unfulfilled. His wish had yet to be realized.

To Aleister, even death was merely another setback—never a reason to surrender.

"Do you know who it is you're saving?"

"I don't care who you are. All I see is a patient in desperate need of surgery. And no matter what happens, I will never abandon my patient!"

"Then it's decided," Heaven Canceller declared resolutely and solemnly.

"What an excessively gentle yet peculiar fellow..."

Aleister paused before continuing, "...I have too many enemies in England. I cannot remain here any longer."

"Let me think... Then go to Japan. Japan has just suffered defeat in war. That land is desperate for everything right now—its environment will surely be able to accommodate you."

After brief consideration, Heaven Canceller pointed out a path for Aleister.

Subsequently, with Heaven Canceller's assistance and medical treatment, Aleister managed to survive and relocated to Japan.

Meanwhile, in the magical world's records, the evil and terrifying magician Aleister Crowley died on December 1st, 1947, in the English countryside.

***

1950—Academy City's initial construction began—

In the midst of pitch darkness, Roy abruptly opened his eyes.

***

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