‘I’ve been had.’
The final trump card hidden until the very end. The poisoned dagger that Garland and Elon had concealed to the last had struck true.
Red could not even breathe amid the white-hot flames burning from within, thrashing like a dog set ablaze.
Not only the human flesh but even the silver owl standing dumbly on two legs could not steady itself, flapping its wings and raging wildly.
In the end, this too would pass—it was merely dying embers to be extinguished. Yet the crucial point was that Red Stone had not yet fully claimed Hokhma’s divinity as his own.
“Aaagh! Uwaaaagh!!”
The more he thrashed in agony, the faster the colosseum collapsed, and stones relentlessly rained down, threatening the “human flesh” that had not yet escaped the underground.
As Elon’s fire burned from “within,” Red was simultaneously crushed into pulp beneath a massive boulder.
Even if his body was shattered or mangled by such things now, it would not lead to “death.”
Still, maintaining the human flesh was important for a while longer.
Elon’s fire was prying apart the bond between Red and Hokhma from the inside.
If he failed to respond properly in these initial moments, his soul—still closer to mortal—would lose its power and meet a pitiful end like any other mortal.
Such an outcome was utterly unacceptable, no matter what.
Enduring the pain, Red forcibly straightened his posture and gathered his wits.
As Hokhma’s power gradually suppressed the flames, the instinct that endlessly craved human souls spurred him on. He was starving.
“Heh heh… Hahahaha…”
At the end of the pain, in the midst of hunger, Red let out a mad laugh as he finally extinguished Elon’s remnants.
Am I Hokhma, or is Hokhma me? Which takes precedence? Such philosophical questions held no importance against the immediate hunger.
Any soul would do. Even low-grade emotions reeking of rot, disgusting to put in his mouth, would suffice. Anything to sate this “maddening” starvation…
Unable to bear the hunger, Red focused on finding the soul that would grant him the greatest satisfaction.
Only the dying and tasteless remained in the colosseum.
Merely inhaling deeply as the silver owl was enough to suck in their bland souls without issue. But it was not enough.
‘…Found it!’
Transferring his consciousness to the still-intact body of Hokhma, Red detected the most familiar, intriguing, and exquisitely delicious soul among those trying to flee the colosseum.
“Ah, my beloved children. Where are you hurrying off to?”
The world seen through Hokhma’s eyes appeared so small and quaint!
Redron struggling to board the carriage pulled by a frothing, tethered horse unable to flee, and Annabella standing pitifully beside him, unable to decide on anything—they looked like finely crafted toys. And the gift from an old friend as well.
Through the eyes of a god, he could even see the “state” of the child still tormenting its mother, refusing to be born.
Ah, poor thing. I shall free you from this futile suffering… Like an owl, Red extended his beak toward his “beloved” children.
“…?”
But his attempt was blocked. Annabella had used the goddess’s shadow to conceal them and vanish.
Left with only a crater in the plaza from his frustrated peck, Red irritably searched for the goddess’s shadow.
A god’s power sees what mortals cannot dare to perceive. His prey, reappearing not far away in the city streets, was scurrying in panic.
Ah, how adorable… But he could no longer enjoy warm feelings while watching them. The horrific hunger—shuttling between mortal and god—repeatedly urged him to suck in his children’s souls.
He looked at Annabella once more through the silver owl’s eyes. Just as Garland had been Elon’s proxy, Annabella was Nyx’s proxy and champion, the holy knight of the goddess of night.
It was ultimately a game of tag that would end with her capture, but repeatedly escaping him through the goddess’s shadow was exceedingly irritating.
In that case… I suppose I must deal with Annabella first.
“Anabella, my daughter. Die for your father, as your mother did.”
“Anabella, my daughter. Die for your father, as your mother did.”
Now she would finally be caught. Red had come to understand how to wield the true power of Hokhma, who once wandered the Milky Way in the night sky.
At the same time, possessing such power—holding the eternally vibrating, sparkling power of the stars—yet never once glancing at his loyal followers, Hokhma seemed all the more incomprehensible.
What a foolish, pathetic, listless, and apathetic god… Red extended his hand—his wing—and tore at Annabella’s shadow.
He heard the scream of the goddess Nyx along with her holy knight. And that pleased him.
…
Seen through starry eyes, Annabella, Redron, and the tailed female whose name he could not even recall seemed to know what was about to befall them.
Watching Annabella—stripped of the goddess’s power, her clothes and armor torn to rags, exposing her near-naked form without shame—her dead mother briefly flashed through his mind but was immediately forgotten.
There was no reason left to cling to memories or ties from when he was still human. His “beloved children” were now in despair, voluntarily repeating the pain of their impending death endlessly in fleeting moments.
Ah, what a sweet moment of predation… Red opened his beak—his mouth.
‘What flavor will it have? Garland-Elon resisted me until the moment he was devoured. I cannot be fooled again. Annabella, Nyx. Whatever trick you pull, I am already prepared.’
Red was fully prepared for any scheme the goddess might attempt.
As an appetizer, he would first swallow his beloved son, then Annabella, and for dessert, the tailed female—who would survive only to writhe in despair until she could bear it no longer and breathed her last.
Order is important in a full-course meal. The massive silver owl’s beak turned first toward Redron.
A foolish, incompetent son who had only ever caused trouble, never regarded as a proper heir… yet now, in the end, he would offer his father the ultimate filial piety.
“What came from me naturally returns to me… Huh? Aagh?!”
“Hoo! Hoo!”
With his beak—his mouth—still open, Red suddenly twisted in agony from unexpected pain.
Blood poured from the human flesh, and the stars forming the silver owl’s divine body lost their light and dimmed.
Only a god can threaten a god… Gritting his teeth at the unforeseen arrival of another god’s proxy, Red snarled.
“Disgusting tailed beast…!”
“Hoo! Hooo! Hoo hoo hoo hoo!”
His mouth seemed twisted. In truth, the silver owl’s hard beak bent. Red-Hokhma glared with eyes of black stars at the proxy of another god standing before his “prey.”
“Surabar…!”
The gladiator mercenary from Mosul. A lowly tailed beast dared stand before a god.
“Death is not an end but a new beginning. For devout people like us, it is also a very comfortable, cozy, guaranteed retirement. As your senior who died first, let me say this, Sir Paramir: staying in Elon’s garden, forgetting the affairs of life and living in peace, is not a bad choice at all. Did you know? The fish here are all exquisite. And that’s not all—you could enjoy tea time with me, or ride that large, magnificent-antlered deer and roam around. If you wish, you could occasionally lend strength to Lord Elon in various holy tasks. What could be more splendid and sacred than this? I strongly recommend staying here.”
“You’re not even a salesman, yet pushing matters of life and death so forcefully—I don’t know how to respond, Priest Moriah.”
“Hmm. Of course, I am well aware of the weight carried by the word ‘death.’ But in the end, do we not all return to Elon’s embrace? It is merely a matter of sooner or later. Ah, yes. There is a friend who arrived before me—someone you know as well. Shall we go meet him?”
“Who could that be?”
It was absurd. In this state—neither fully dead nor alive, like a cat in a box—Priest Moriah kept pressing “confirmed” death upon me.
He was even urging me to meet someone I knew who had apparently died without my knowledge.
Outrageous! I was speechless. This wasn’t black comedy. Is death a joke?
In any case, seeing him (supposedly) dead yet living so comfortably in the afterlife (though according to Priest Moriah, I was not fully dead yet) gave me a strangely mixed feeling.
Seeing a dead person thriving in the hereafter—should I rejoice with, “Haha, that fellow was so devout in life, and sure enough, he’s got a great retirement(?) now. That lucky bastard! Living easy all by himself?” Or should I offer somber condolences for the fact of his death? It was truly hard to decide.
In any case, since the person himself was enjoying the current situation, perhaps it was best to simply congratulate him as he wished (setting aside whether that was truly his wish).
…I don’t know. It’s difficult—too difficult! I thought pondering death was still far off!
“Priest Moriah? You said you’d let me meet someone both you and I know, but no one comes to mind. And I keep feeling like I shouldn’t stay here too long… Wouldn’t it be better to go back? If what you said is true, I’m not ‘dead’ yet, right? I still want to live more. If I’m going to die anyway, couldn’t I live a bit longer—quite a bit longer—and come later?”
“Haha, no need to rush. You can return anytime. Wouldn’t it be better to meet your brother first and then go back?”
“So who exactly is this person…”
The scenery I had been enjoying changed in the blink of an eye—before I could even close and open them, before this “swordmaster” could properly appreciate “tea time.”
When I came to my senses, we were already standing. Priest Moriah and I were before a temple of Elon… The Elon Sect’s temple in Mosul?
Seeing the familiar temple again left me dumbfounded.
“This is the place, is it not? Though you never used it yourself, I recall you visited several times to watch your mercenary comrades receive treatment.”
“…Yes, you’re right, Priest. I remember coming here…”
“Let us go in, Sir Paramir. A very important person is waiting anxiously for you.”
I followed Priest Moriah into the temple.
The exterior of Elon’s temple looked down upon people with solemn majesty, but the atmosphere reversed upon entering. Blackened scorch marks from fire spread across the entire building, and dark, discolored bloodstains caught the eye everywhere.
Yet there was no one around. We walked silently through the labyrinthine interior of the temple.
“Here we are.”
In the end, we reached the end.
It had not been a long walk, yet it felt suffocating, as though months had passed… Probably just my imagination?
Priest Moriah stood before a door blackened with soot and painted in human blood. He lightly knocked twice with the back of his hand. Though I did not know who was inside, I sensed a human presence.
“Aren’t you coming in, Priest Moriah?”
“Ah, I am fine. The brother inside wishes to meet you alone. I will wait here.”
“…Understood.”
Suspicious. Extremely, extremely suspicious. Yet I could not shake the feeling that I had come too far to probe further. Even if I asked who it was, Priest Moriah would not answer with his own mouth.
In the end, I stood alone before the door. As if I should not even peek inside, our devout priest of Elon turned his back and began whistling idly.
…
Sighing, I opened the door. The massive gate-like door swung open without resistance.
“You’ve come, Paramir.”
Thud. Someone closed a book, stood from their seat, and greeted me warmly. The moment I saw him, I froze.
“I have been waiting for you.”
Maximilian spread his arms to welcome me. I embraced him in return. But I could not bicker or joke with him as always.
The instant I saw Maximilian, I froze—and there was good reason for it.
“I am truly glad to see you with my own eyes—though they see nothing, I can clearly perceive the expression on your face, brother.”
Maximilian. My dear branch leader…
His eyes had been gouged out, containing only deep darkness.