Chapter 21: The Hero’s Life, It Will Take
Back then, the position of Pope held no allure for Augustus. His heart belonged solely to Lose Phyllis.
They had entered the temple, their hands clasped, their dreams intertwined, ready to perform their final duty as the Holy Son and Holy Maiden.
Neither of them knew that they were stepping into a nightmare.
The temple doors closed behind them, sealing their fate.
They performed the customary rituals, cleaning the statues, kneeling before them, offering their prayers.
Everything seemed normal, routine.
And then, the horror began.
The statues, bathed in an ethereal glow, stirred. Augustus and Lose Phyllis, their hearts filled with a naive reverence, believed it was a sign of divine favor.
They prostrated themselves, their foreheads pressed against the cold stone floor, their voices chanting praises to the gods.
But the glow intensified, twisting and contorting, forming grotesque limbs, tentacles writhing like serpents, wrapping around Lose Phyllis’s body.
Augustus, paralyzed by an unseen force, could only watch in horror, his screams echoing through the empty temple.
Seven twisted beings, their forms shifting and shimmering, their presence a violation of all that was holy, took turns tormenting Lose Phyllis throughout the night.
They reveled in her despair, her screams music to their ears.
The gods, the beings he had worshipped, were more monstrous than any Demon he had ever encountered.
He had believed they were benevolent, merciful, protectors of humanity.
But now he knew the truth. They were nothing more than powerful beasts, their desires base and cruel, their methods depraved.
The next morning, Lose Phyllis was pregnant.
Three years later, she gave birth to a baby girl: Loseweisse.
Augustus’s feelings towards Loseweisse were a tangled mess of love, hate, and revulsion. She was the only remaining piece of the woman he had loved, but she also carried the taint of the gods, a constant reminder of his shattered faith, his unbearable loss.
He didn’t know which of the seven gods had fathered her.
He both adored her and loathed her, his heart torn between conflicting emotions.
Lose Phyllis, the once vibrant and innocent girl, was broken. The horrors she had endured had shattered her mind, her sanity a casualty of the gods’ cruel whims.
The pure and virtuous Holy Maiden had become a shadow of her former self, her eyes vacant, her body a vessel for their twisted desires.
Augustus knew it wasn’t her fault. She was strong, resilient. He believed she could have recovered, could have overcome the trauma, the violation.
But the gods’ power was too great, their influence too insidious.
He had merely witnessed their actions, and it had nearly shattered his own mind, his eyes bleeding, his sanity hanging by a thread.
Lose Phyllis, directly subjected to their power, their essence, had been irrevocably corrupted.
Augustus’s faith, once unwavering, crumbled that day.
The gods, the beings he had worshipped, had treated him, their loyal servant, like a plaything, their actions a mockery of his devotion.
His faith morphed into a burning desire for revenge. He craved power, sought it relentlessly, his methods growing increasingly ruthless as he climbed the ranks of the Holy See, eventually claiming the position of Pope.
He would defy the gods.
He would kill them.
But the more he learned about them, the more he understood the vast gulf that separated them.
He discovered the truth about their world, about the limitations of humanity.
Mortals couldn’t defeat gods.
Only power from beyond their world, from beyond their understanding, could challenge their dominion.
He had almost despaired, until the Hero arrived.
A being from another world, wielding power beyond the comprehension of the Heavenly Continent’s inhabitants. He was Augustus’s only hope.
But Augustus, his mind twisted by his past trauma, his faith replaced by a cynical paranoia, trusted no one, not even the Hero. He had to control him, to manipulate him, to ensure that this power served his own agenda.
He would turn the Hero into a puppet, a weapon to be wielded against the gods.
It might take years, decades even, but he was patient. He would wait.
Loseweisse, watching the Pope depart, her face darkened.
She had overheard his conversation with Angelica.
Angelica, the next Holy Maiden?
Preposterous. The title belonged to her, and she wouldn’t allow anyone, not even the Pope, to take it from her.
She felt threatened, her position, her very identity, challenged. And it was all Qin Chu’s fault.
She smiled, a wistful longing filling her eyes. Jie Luo, she thought, he was the true Hero. Qin Chu was nothing but a pale imitation.
She retrieved a scroll from her pocket, a gift from a mysterious and powerful benefactor.
It contained a spell, a ritual unlike anything she had ever seen.
Resurrection.
The blood of a successor could open the gateway to the First Hero’s return.
If she could gather Jie Luo’s scattered soul fragments, she could use Qin Chu’s blood, his life force, as a sacrifice, bringing her beloved Hero back to life.
Madness and reason warred within her. This was beyond her capabilities. She needed help.
“Message!” she whispered, activating the spell.
“Ekaterina, it’s me. Return to the capital immediately. I’ve found a way to resurrect Jie Luo.”
She began contacting her former comrades, summoning them to her side.
…
In the slums of the Auville Empire’s capital, Qin Chu sat at the bar, his fingers tapping against the countertop.
The Demon’s presence grew stronger, its aura drawing closer.
A diamond-shaped mark, etched onto the back of his hand, pulsed with a faint glow.
The Phantom Demon’s parting gift, a beacon guiding the assassins to their target.
His shadow, elongated and distorted by the silvery moonlight, stretched across the floor, resembling a grotesque puppet.
From behind, he looked human, his form indistinguishable from any other patron. But his face, a horrifying amalgamation of mismatched features, betrayed his true nature.
One half of his face was rough and bearded, the other smooth and delicate, the two halves fused together in a jarring, unnatural union.
One eye glared with a murderous rage, the other fluttered coquettishly.
The division extended to his entire body, a clear line separating the masculine and feminine halves, as if two corpses, one male, one female, had been stitched together.
A Yin-Yang Demon, also known as a… Corpse Demon!
Its mismatched eyes, one crimson, one azure, fixed on Qin Chu’s back.
Its lips curled into a grotesque smile, revealing rows of jagged teeth.
The Hero’s life, it would claim.
This glory would belong to the great Matras!
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