Chapter 4

In a pseudo-religious sect, the god known as Cruxshibal was said to dwell in dark and shadowy places. However, because of this, he was considered a merciful deity who cared for his followers.

But due to its uncontrollable explosive form, the sect members came to revere it as a powerful avenger.

This image allowed a man named Yasley to easily rise through the ranks of the cult. His appearance fit their vision of the god quite well.

Yasley, a giant filled with thoughts of vengeance, had strange tattoos on his face but spoke and acted intelligently rather than violently. Having once led a theocratic nation, he knew how to become an idol for those who believed in unseen gods.

So he merged his image with that of the god’s, easily ascending to lead the sect.

Because of this blending, many believed the god who would manifest through a girl would resemble Yasley.

They expected a powerful presence.

But when she spoke…

She talked in an incredibly childish tone.

The small seed of doubt grew into suspicion when her identity was questioned, and when she made petulant demands like a spoiled child, most were certain.

This wasn’t the god they’d hoped for. To make matters worse, the “god” got down from its seat and played with the offerings—corpse tributes—by stepping on them.

With a carefree smile, the naked girl leaped around, leaving footprints on all the offerings before returning to her original spot.

Some began to wonder if they’d summoned something else entirely…

Perhaps even a demon.

Though they were sure this wasn’t the god they wanted, there was still a chance it was something tremendous, so they held their breath.

But the girl’s question was devastating.

It outright denied everything they’d ever believed.

“What do we do?”

At this, more than half of the believers present rejected what stood before them. Fearing some dangerous entity might be summoned, a specially trained warrior of faith, prepared with a curse-laden weapon, fired.

“Kerchunk.”

The girl’s head exploded.

Though not perfectly centered, the massive arrow shattered her skull, scattering the right half of her head across the floor.

However…

That wasn’t the end.

The vessel may have died, but whatever was inside should have returned. If lucky, whatever falsely claimed to be their god would perish as well.

Of course, she had no intention of falsely claiming anything.

The problem was that what should’ve died still stood.

With the remaining half of her face smiling without pain, she extended her right hand toward the one who had destroyed hers.

Following the trajectory of the arrow, a deep purple smoke appeared. Though it seemed to trace back along the path of the shot, keen-eyed observers noticed a thin thread already connected to the attacker.

Meaning there was no escape.

The deep purple energy slowly drained into the attacker—a young man from a special combat-trained group within the sect.

Technically, he was barely sixteen, having joined after losing his parents and becoming an orphan. He underwent heavy indoctrination, growing into a loyal member.

The god taught in his training didn’t look like what stood before him now—it was supposed to resemble the great leader standing nearby. Believing the summoning had failed, the boy fired at what stood before him to protect his leader.

Immediately afterward, he felt a chilling, soul-deep cold.

His fingers froze against the weapon, unable to move—not just immobilized but physically adhered.

He could see the deep purple smoke seeping into his skin, muscles, bones…everything beneath.

Even though he wore thick armor, he saw it all clearly.

A freezing chill enveloped his entire body, but that sensation faded into insignificance.

Below…

There was something below.

Moments ago, it looked like a girl.

The opposite of light.

Endless darkness.

An eternal void of hunger.

Something beneath despair.

Words from scriptures describing Cruxshibal flashed through his mind, yet they fell woefully short of what he now witnessed.

All his training, memories, joys, sorrows, despair, anger, and finally hope—all slowly drained away into that abyss below.

He watched helplessly as his precious essence was stolen.

And…

It was so cold.

Like being submerged in an empty, sound-dampened void. No warmth remained.

He needed to find it. Without thinking, that’s what he decided.

His frozen body couldn’t feel emotion anymore—if anything, only one overwhelming feeling remained.

He slowly looked ahead.

Other warriors of faith surrounded him, clad in armor, but he could see through to their very souls. Those he recognized by face, those who had trained him, even those he’d never seen—all visible to him now. And amidst them, he saw light.

Light that had been his until moments ago, now stolen by the thing below.

What to do?

Take it back.

Slowly, deliberately, he raised the weapon fused with his hand, aiming at someone else to avoid drawing attention. He had to get away from the thing below—it was too cold, terrifying. It felt like falling into a moonless night over a bottomless lake.

What he needed was warmth.

And it was ahead.

He had no second arrow, and reloading would require special tools anyway since human strength alone couldn’t draw the bow.

Yet the weapon slowly ascended, a deep purple bolt rising from beneath.

For a fleeting moment, he wondered why this was possible, but the overwhelming desire to steal the light ahead drowned out any doubts.

Give me your light!

“Twang!”

A far stronger deep purple bolt pierced straight through the person ahead compared to the earlier shot.

Simultaneously, seven bolts riddled the boy’s body.

While aiming, several others had targeted him, noticing his odd behavior.

Instead of collapsing as expected, his broken body floated unnaturally, severed limbs defying physics.

Maintaining its shape despite physical impossibility.

The damaged areas were replaced by deep purple mist.

This triggered panic among those nearby, but it quickly subsided as black tar-like substance covered the wounds caused by cursed arrows meant to eliminate divine beings—not major deities like Zeus or Thor but entities akin to Japanese minor spirits.

Developed and modified by Yasley from ancient religious techniques.

It was enough to kill the boy.

With his head gone, thought was impossible, but the boy felt immense joy—he wouldn’t feel cold anymore.

As consciousness faded, the cold disappeared, and he felt warmth while vanishing.

Like someone jumping into a cold bath then rushing out shivering, his soul left his body.

But the events weren’t over.

A girl from the same warrior class on the other side underwent identical transformation before being killed.

Among all this, someone was ecstatic.

Spinning around a stone chair, wearing the flayed skin of the previous girl, its half-blown-off face restored, it smiled happily.

The warmth from the light it had absorbed moments ago felt wonderful.

Compared to the stale light from sudden deaths, the fresh light tasted far better.

Already delighted, it gained even more as the light from the boy’s target flowed into its mouth.

Amazing!

The light can replicate!

The dream of automated hunting became attainable.

From its new position as a girl, it quickly deduced injecting itself into glowing beings worked this way.

Its head spun wildly at this revelation—perhaps functioning exactly as it should.

Predicting the next step for feeding.

The cheerful bouncing stopped as it approached Yasley.

“I am not Cruxshibal.”

Yasley realized what he’d suspected became reality.

Most amusingly, neither party was correct.

If positive existence equaled reality, then bursting negative endless misery represented another aspect. Such phenomena existed in all light-filled worlds.

And from such realities emerged stories crafting the god Cruxshibal.

Yasley had summoned correctly.

Despite the mismatch.

It told Yasley:

“You’ve seen what I can do. So, let me ask again.”

With purple hair and glowing purple eyes, the girl stared directly at Yasley.

“What will you do with this power?”

It sounded like the whispers of demons from old scriptures, but Yasley didn’t care whether it was Cruxshibal or something else.

What mattered was its potential to aid his vengeance.

“Revenge.”

Hearing this, the girl smiled faintly—an opportunity to remain and gain warmth.

She extended her hand.

“My name…”

But hesitated. After several attempts, she shook her head unhappily—her name wouldn’t come out. She knew the characters mentally but couldn’t vocalize them.

Deciding to state the name of the body she inhabited:

“I’m Rebecca. Rebecca Rolfe.”

Yasley understood this was the name belonging to the body she currently used.

Fake name for fake name then. Yasley introduced himself using the alias he adopted within the sect.

“Hieronymus. That’s my name.”

The girl and man shook hands, forming a contract.

Though technically false from start to finish, a contract is a contract.

That day, the pseudo-religious sect gained its god.

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