Chapter 66

“…They say we won’t meet anymore.”



“Huh?”

“Anne, if you follow your father to the Inquisition Temple…”

066

Asking (Part 2)

In a space filled entirely with light, darkness descends.

The Reformatory. A place built by consuming the extremely rare blessings of the gods for the sake of heretics who cannot be saved. Any sinner, any evil person, can be forgiven. They can repent. By human power alone.

But heretics are impossible. Only the power of Ailim can save the souls captured by Laube, but the sleeping god no longer directly exercises power on earth. Only fragments of power that fall away from Him are gathered.

That was not enough to save the spirit of a heretic. The Reformatory, despite the bold investment, was left abandoned and forgotten.

A place where no one’s gaze reaches. Yet, where divine grace resides, it must always remain perfect even without maintenance. A crack forms, blaspheming the absolute nature of the divine. The black stain spreads like a plague, soon opening its maw wide.

And from within, a hand—no, a forelimb—emerges.

A single forelimb, strangely glossy under the light, flails in the air before grabbing something. Then, a massive body shoots out from the crack.

A form resembling a human stuffed into the skeleton of a bug. Despite having eight legs, it walks on two legs, mimicking a human, while its six arms are twisted into grotesque and hideous shapes. Among them, the sickle-like forelimb is particularly menacing.

The heretic, Louis Laube, finally sets foot in the Reformatory, and the entire space roars with screams. The light, already painful, now feels like a physical entity, stabbing and bursting his single eye. Even the air he breathes turns to poison, destroying his insides.

But Louis Laube pays no heed and continues walking. He sees the world even with his eyes closed. He survives without breathing. His crushed and tattered body squirms like clay, reattaching itself. No, he doesn’t even need to regenerate.

Though he has transcended life and become a god-like being, he still hasn’t shed the habits of those days.

Louis walks. Though he has wings, the light of the Reformatory slashes his entire body in fury, preventing him from flying. Closing his eyes is enough, and while the rest of his body is protected by a hard shell, his vulnerable wings are torn even when folded.

Walking wasn’t so bad. It allowed him to reminisce about those days. Memories that were his, yet not his.

Dozens of compound eyes navigate the labyrinthine paths, piercing through the mirage-like horizon that distorts his vision, guiding him through the ever-shifting space.

But even while processing all these tasks, Louis had enough leisure to recall other memories.

=Ha. Ha. Ha. My dear home.=

He recited the Scriptures, drank the Holy Water, and burned in the sacred barrier of silver bars. All of it was to purify ‘him’ who was not him. He won’t deny that it was effective in causing pain, but it was far from enough to completely burn him away.

=If they really wanted to save me, they should have piled me on a pyre and set me ablaze.=

Of course, he knows they wouldn’t. While other heretics are uprooted at the first sign, ‘he’ was beloved by the Inquisition Judge. Truly, a sprout in fertile soil.

His mocking steps finally reach their destination and stop. What caused him more pain than the Holy Water, the Scriptures, or even the red Inquisition Judge’s torture—the sacred barrier of silver bars.

But he is different from ‘him.’ Louis knew well how to use the power he was born with. Taking a step, his sickle draws a crescent trajectory.

=Whoosh—=

With a scream-like sound, the air is torn apart, scattering sacred sparks. The sickle doesn’t hesitate, tearing through the barrier and splitting even the soft solid silver.

However, the distance between the silver bars, wide enough for humans to pass, is still too narrow for an inhuman being of his size. Mocking the Inquisition Temple’s malicious design, Louis continues to slash relentlessly.

Until all the spider’s threads are cut, and the trapped insect can move.

=Arise.=

“You… are…”

A man crouching pitifully like a wet dog. Louis extends one of his six forelimbs, the least damaged.

Naturally, Joseph, crouching in the Reformatory, doesn’t accept the handshake. In the man’s eyes, there’s a hint of surprise and regret. It’s a far more complex and multifaceted emotion than what’s reflected in Louis’s compound eyes.

Of course, such emotions don’t suit a heretic. As the man hesitates, Louis stabs with the forelimb he had extended for a handshake.

=Thud.=

The black spear pierces the man’s abdomen in an instant. Yet, despite an attack that should have killed a human instantly, the man remains with a gloomy expression, silently staring at Louis.

His gaze lacks the emotions one should feel when seeing a giant bug-human. Fear and horror. Even as he hangs impaled on the black spear, Joseph is still lost in the past, not the present.

=Thought you might be useful, tsk.=

“In the end… you’ve become like me.”

His voice, dredged up from long stagnation, is endlessly turbid. Impaled and lifted, his attempt to balance his weight is laughable. Louis flicks his forelimb.

=Thud.= The human body crashes to the ground, bursting apart. Though there’s no blood to stain the white space, the scattered flesh and organ fragments are grotesque enough. But it’s too late to be disgusted by such things.

Louis strikes a few more times, then waits for Joseph to regenerate. Drawn by an irresistible force, the scattered flesh reforms into a human shape. That endlessly gloomy expression remains.

Immortality isn’t a blessing for everyone. Especially when the price is exacted unwillingly.

=Truly impressive. The royal bloodline.=

“…”

=Kihihik. Did you think I wouldn’t know? Joseph? Even if our names are different, even if our existences are different, we are still ‘Laube.’ Just as you read the darkness in my heart… so do I.=

=No, rather, unlike you who still clings to the human shell, I have fully accepted myself and can see so much more. How does it feel?=

=To be saved by the blood you so desperately wanted to escape?=

Since the god fell asleep, humans who once enjoyed everything were unsatisfied with the fragments of blessings they received. They strived endlessly to reach omnipotence, to grasp the power of the gods with human hands.

Most of these blasphemous and heretical attempts failed, but a few succeeded.

The emperor’s bloodline. The ruler must always have a clear mind, unswayed by external factors, and make judgments based on their own will—protection seeped in from the first emperor’s doctrine. Though trivial compared to the Holy Body, this power is passed down.

=Ah~ Wouldn’t ‘I’ feel wronged? Some, no matter how much they struggle, end up having their bodies taken by terrifying monsters, while others, just because they were born well, can still act human.=

“Shut up…”

=At least ‘I’ tried to fulfill my wish until the end. What about you? Forgotten all your wishes and love… just lying in a grave like a corpse.=

The seductive voice persists. Even if it doesn’t originate from within, when true ‘Laubes’ meet, their spirits resonate. Unwillingly, suppressed traumas grow like poisonous mushrooms.

Born under everyone’s expectations, he worked tirelessly to become a human worthy of the crown prince. Without a shred of his own will, he followed naturally, having lived his whole life that way. The puppet of the emperor, who first gained free will on the day he could have everything but gained nothing, the heir to the throne who first desired something…

People whispered in his ear with sweet serpent tongues. You are the master of all. Then why am I dragged around by my possessions? The one thing I truly wanted, why does it scatter like sand the moment it reaches my hand?

=Decide.=

As Louis swings his arm violently, the impaled body falls from his forelimb and crashes into the wall. The man, armed with scorn and loathing for himself and the world, receives even greater mockery from the demon who seeks to become a god.

=Will you remain human, leaning on what you despise most?=

The gaping wound in his abdomen no longer seems to regenerate. Like a corpse, as if the final blow had drained him, Joseph remains motionless. His already turbid eyes are now lifeless, like empty glass beads.

Then, a change occurs. From the gaping wound, something black begins to drip. Blood? In the final moments of his life, has the heretic finally returned to being human?

No.

=Or will you become a being freer and more omnipotent than anyone, following your desire! Ahahahahaha!=

Endlessly black, blacker than tar, filthier than filth, the substance is the source of all evil and blasphemy.

Ailim’s most favored creation is erased and rewritten under the heretic’s relentless brush. The human body swells grotesquely, then bursts, scattering flesh everywhere. In its place, bristly hair sprouts from the terrible wound.

Joseph, now as massive as the giant bug-human, rises. The mouth that once debated imperial politics elongates, the eyes of the young man who once discussed the nation’s future with intelligence and passion tear into a sickly yellow. Among the randomly sprouted teeth, a serpent-like tongue flicks.

As Louis extends his hand again, Joseph grasps it with his hairy forelimb. Bug and beast. Beings farthest from humans mimicking human gestures evoke a terrible sense of rejection and discomfort.

Soon, Joseph follows Louis obediently, like a tamed dog, towards the crack in the Reformatory where Louis first entered.

As the two heretics step beyond the crack, and the powerful heretic’s energy is withdrawn, the Reformatory, as if throwing a tantrum, erases the moldy stains that had bloomed with dense lines of light. The space, completely sealed. Most—no, all—of the devout are empty, as they always were.

As if nothing could ever exist here in the first place.