In a dark and gloomy place dwelled a god named Cruxshibal, who was considered merciful by the cultists who thought he cared for them.
However, his form manifested as an uncontrollable, explosive force, leading the cultists to build an image of a powerful avenger out of him.
With such an image, a man named Yasle easily rose to the position of cult leader, as his own appearance reflected the deity they believed in.
A towering man filled with thoughts of vengeance. His face bore strange tattoos, yet his demeanor was not violent; in fact, it was quite intellectual.
Having served as a leader of a religious state, he knew well how to become an idol for those who believed in an intangible god.
So, he orchestrated a merging of his image with that of the god and easily secured the leader position within the cult.
Many believed that the divine being who descended to this world borrowing the body of a girl would resemble Yasle because of this mixed imagery.
At least they expected it to display a semblance of his powerful presence.
But when it spoke, what the heck was that?
It had an incredibly childish tone!
The little questions that sprouted turned to suspicions when it spoke like a whining child, confirming most people’s doubts.
That was not the appearance they envisioned for their god. Moreover, the being that stood up proceeded to step on and frolic over the offerings.
With an innocent smile, it stomped on the corpses, and after skipping merrily over the offerings with its naked form, the girl returned to her original spot only after leaving its footprints everywhere.
From start to finish, it wore a broad smile. So some began to wonder.
Did they call for a god, or something else entirely?
Like, say, a demon?
While they were certain it was not the god they wished for, they held their breath, fearing it might be some formidable entity.
But the girl’s question was fatal.
It undermined everything they had believed in.
“What do we do now?”
With this question, more than half of the believers present decided to reject the figure before them. And fearing dangerous entities might be summoned, they unleashed all sorts of curses through weapons they had prepared.
Thud
With a sound of crushing, the girl’s head flew off.
Though it didn’t hit dead center, the arrow was so thick that half of her head, along with the skull, disintegrated and scattered onto the ground.
But that wasn’t the end.
At the very least, the girl containing the god must die, and whatever was inside her must return.
If lucky, the thing that came in pretending to be their god should die too.
Of course, it had no intention of pretending.
The problem was that what should’ve died was still standing there.
The half-remaining face smiled joyfully, showing no sign of pain as it extended its right hand toward the person who had shot its face off.
Following the arrow’s trajectory, dark purple smoke appeared, spiraling like it was retracing its path, but those with keen eyes saw that thick tendrils were already connecting to the attacker before they could touch him.
In other words, there was no escape.
And soon, the dark purple energy slowly began to absorb the attacker.
Here was a boy belonging to the special group of so-called believers, trained specifically for battle.
In truth, he was a 16-year-old boy, who still couldn’t be regarded as a man yet. He joined because he had lost his parents and was thrown onto the street.
Since there was no one to help him out here, he joined this cult, growing into a loyal member filled with brainwashing intent.
The god’s image taught during that training was not what stood before him. It was the great leader, the one who stood ahead. Therefore, thinking this summoning was a failure, the boy shot a crossbow to protect the leader.
Immediately afterward, he felt a chilling pain like none he’d experienced before.
At the same time, his fingers remained glued to the crossbow, unmovable. Not just unable to move, but literally stuck to it.
And he could see the cold purple smoke seeping deep within him—beneath his skin, inside his muscles, and bones.
Originally, it should have been below a thick armor, but the boy saw it clearly.
A frigid aura rapidly enveloped him as a feeling of dread overtook his senses.
Below it lay…
What had just moments ago appeared as a girl.
Opposite of light.
Endless darkness.
An eternally hungry void.
Those under despair.
Words from scriptures and images describing Cruxshibal flitted through his mind, and he saw that all those descriptions were woefully inadequate.
All the training, education, joys, sorrows, despair, and anger he had built up surged in his mind before being slowly absorbed into the void below.
He could only tremble in fear as he watched his cherished things being taken away.
And
It was unbearably cold.
It felt like he fell into water devoid of anything. Sounds muted, leaving only deep darkness. The warmth he once had was gone.
I have to find it. He thought absently.
Yet, even as his head rolled, his frozen body showed no emotion. Either there were no feelings left, or he was trapped by just one.
He slowly gazed ahead.
Other believers of the faith. Encased in armor, yet their forms oddly visible inside. The faces of those he recognized, like old training instructors and even faces he never saw, filled his vision. And in the midst, there was light.
He now understood—that which he had, had been stolen and lay below.
So what will he do?
Steal it back.
With fingers now wholly merged with the crossbow, he slowly raised it. Carefully aiming at the person opposite him without giving away his intention.
He needed to distance himself from what lay below. It was too cold. Only fear resided there. It felt like a moonless night by a lake where he’d never escape again.
What he needed was warmth.
And that was right in front of him.
He didn’t have a second arrow. Even if he did, it would require a special tool to reload. He couldn’t draw the bow with sheer human strength.
Yet, the crossbow’s limb inched back. And from beneath the crossbow, a dark purple arrow rose.
A fleeting question about how this was possible flickered in his mind, yet the anticipation of being able to steal light from the person ahead overshadowed it.
“Give me your light!”
WHOOSH!
A powerful dark purple arrow, far greater than what he had shot earlier, pierced straight through the person in front of him.
Simultaneously, a total of seven crossbow bolts pierced the boy’s body.
While he was aiming at the person on the opposite side, several others had also aimed their crossbows at this boy, sensing something was off.
Yet, instead of dropping to the ground, the boy’s body remained suspended in the air like an awkwardly distorted polygon character from a game. There were even no connections between his legs and body.
It was physically impossible yet held its form.
And the broken parts were filled with dark purple mist.
At that moment, a sense of peril erupted amongst the onlookers, only to soon dissipate.
His body began to descend, enveloped in a viscous substance unlike the dark purple mist.
A curse affixed to the arrow.
This was originally a curse to eliminate beings like gods. Of course, it wasn’t aimed at major deities like Zeus, Athena, Thor, or Odin, but a type of curse directed at lesser gods from Japan.
This technique was adapted by Yasle from an ancient religion.
And it was more than enough to kill the boy who had been.
He could no longer think, having lost his head, yet to his delight, he knew he would no longer feel cold.
In the slowly fading consciousness, as the chill disappeared, he felt warmth as he vanished.
Like someone who dove into cold water and quickly crawled out gasping for air, the boy’s soul drifted away.
But the event didn’t end there.
The girl, labeled as a special warrior of faith, standing opposite the boy, morphed in the exact same manner as he had.
Sure, she was killed before she could attack.
Yet within that chaos, there lay one being happiest of all.
Spinning around a stone chair, an entity clad in the girl’s skin had reclaimed the distorted face it had lost, grinning widely.
The warmth obtained from the light was comforting.
The light was vastly different from the warm light that had fallen upon her due to her abrupt death—more like a fresh dish versus soggy one from the supermarket.
She was delighted by this and, to her surprise, she felt the light from the boy’s unexpected attack rolling into her mouth.
Amazing!
The light can duplicate!
She could see a path to fulfill her desires for auto-hunting.
While in the form of a girl and glowing with light, she immediately supposed that infusing herself into it would yield excellent results.
Before the most crucial moment, her head spun wildly. In some ways, it seemed like her head was functioning correctly.
To consume prey, predicting the next step.
That happy bouncing thing, taking the shape of a girl, soon ceased its movements and approached Yasle.
“I am not Cruxshibal.”
Yasle realized that what he had guessed was now reality.
But the funniest part was realizing that both sides were wrong.
If the plus became reality, then the minus could endure an endlessly unhappy existence. That phenomenon was present.
Every world containing light held a phenomenon akin to a single law.
And in one world, a tale woven from reality gave rise to the god known as Cruxshibal.
Yasle had summoned correctly.
Though misunderstood,
It said this to Yasle.
“What I can do has just been shown. So let me ask you again.”
With violet hair and sparkling purple eyes, the girl stared directly at Yasle with this question.
“What will you do with this?”
Yasle thought it seemed like the whispers of a devil from ancient scriptures. Yet whether the being before him was Cruxshibal or something else mattered not.
What truly mattered was that it could help him with his revenge.
Yasle answered.
“Revenge.”
At those words, the girl smiled brightly. It was the opportunity to gain warmth without end.
The girl extended her hand.
“I am.”
But then she paused. After stuttering a few times, the girl soon made an unpleasant face and shook her head. Because her name didn’t come out.
Her mind knew how to spell and read it, yet strangely the name wouldn’t leave her lips.
So she decided to simply say her name.
“I’m Rebecca. Rebecca Rolfe.”
Yasle knew that was the name possessed by the girl’s body. So he responded.
“Hieronymus. That is my name.”
If it’s a fake name, then let’s go with fake names. He chose to say the name currently being used in the cult rather than his true name.
The girl and the man shook hands. And with that, a contract was formed.
Though filled with lies from beginning to end, it could still be called a contract.
On this day, a cult acquired their god.
