I feel like I should be asking whether I want power, but everything’s so complicated right now my head hurts.
Is this weirdly stiff body not just rigor mortis, is it?
If it’s a summoning offering, I wish it could be done simply with a card.
Or at least, I wish they had prepared a decent body for me.
swish
I looked, and guess what? There are chains shackled to my wrists and ankles. And under those chains, there are dark bruises.
It shows signs of struggling.
If it’s an offering, shouldn’t one volunteer their body a bit? No, I guess ruining the body doesn’t count since they ripped out the heart first.
And being naked just feels pervy.
No, it’s not about being pervy; it’s a murder scene after all, right? It’s a crime!
Of course, in a culture like the Aztecs, it wouldn’t be a crime.
Or maybe, if you’re rich, you could brush it off with a nice fat bribe.
Anyway, this body is exceptionally hard. Not that it’s muscular or rigid like a corpse.
It feels different from the light I’ve always touched.
Since I’m on a body instead of the ground, I wonder if it can fit me?
slither
A dark purple mist rises from my body. It’s a weird sensation to describe, but it feels like someone zoomed in from behind.
It’s completely different from the feeling I had when I reached out to raise myself.
And as I go on, the sensations get clearer and clearer.
My eyesight improves, I can feel the sitting rock, and the warm blood soaking my chest, stomach, and lower body. And the heavy stench of blood mixed with the breathing of people around me.
Of course, there’s pain, but oddly, it doesn’t feel quite like pain—it’s more like watching my HP drop on a screen, like it’s somewhere unrelated to me.
Will I die from this?
“Cruxshibal, I am your servant. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
A big muscular man carefully asks me. He’s quite the beefcake, with a messy brown face half-covered in tattoos.
What’s strange is that his eyes are dull and lifeless, devoid of any light.
Those eyes look like they belong to someone who’s been hopeless for eons. You often see them in mirrors when you lick up memories.
Forget his curse of a name; I’m puzzled how he knows me in the first place.
Thinking back to what he just introduced me as, I can somewhat guess how he came to understand me, but the light I look up at doesn’t fit with everyone living in the same world.
Some places were primitive, others medieval Western, some medieval Eastern, and others possessed entirely alien cultures.
There were even people who seemed more advanced than modern times.
At that time, I didn’t care as long as I could gain warmth, but looking back now, they were all different worlds.
In other words, the chances of him knowing about me are nearly zero, right?
If I get out, I’ll have to look up this name “Cruxshibal.” Whether I can get out, though, is another question.
Nothing changes while dark purple mist keeps flowing from my body. Is this some special effect of me being inside?
Oh, my hair color’s purple.
Tasty purple.
This world is fascinating, but first, I need to speak.
Problem arises.
I can’t talk.
Ah, right. My diaphragm moves, constricting my lungs, letting air out, and when it passes through my vocal cords, I can speak, right?
The diaphragm feels alive, but the lungs have holes in them, so there’s no way sound could come out.
Can’t I heal the hole in my chest?
At least, with my power, there should be something I can do.
Oops, mistake.
Blood gushed from the hole in a gush.
If that’s your thing, you’d be thrilled, but I don’t see anyone like that around. Thank goodness, these lunatics don’t seem to enjoy corpses as a hobby.
Seeing the air tremble weirdly, the man in front of me is suspicious of me.
Of course, suspicion is natural. I wasn’t the one he summoned in the first place.
The thread of light that touched me could likely have been meant for someone else. I just snatched it.
Frustrating, huh? It’s like I’ll end up dead regardless of what I do.
Dying could be fun in its own way, but if there’s a chance, I should try.
This body is pretty firm; I should try to squeeze in a bit more.
*
In the pitch-black underground.
Inside, there are candlesticks arranged in a circle at regular intervals, dimly illuminating the darkness. The circular interior is inscribed with tiny letters and pictures detailing the purpose behind this place’s construction.
Build a temple, offer sacrifices, summon the god, curse your enemies.
Drawings filled with hatred, wishing for the destruction of others, are depicted differently across all sides. Countless people wearing masks gather around, surrounding the center.
There are three large circles, structured so that the outside is higher and descends as it moves inward.
The people wear masks and outfits with similar colors, but the clothes vary slightly by circle.
Those inside have outfits with much more intricate patterns compared to those outside.
All those people stand, gazing toward the center.
In the middle where all eyes are directed is a stepped-pyramid altar.
On one side of the pyramid, there are ascending steps, and in front of those steps stand four people of varying builds.
On the left and right of the steps, gruesomely torn corpses are laid down on each layer.
On the very top layer, a large man stands proudly.
At the pinnacle sits a stone chair, and there lies a girl bound by chains, completely naked.
But even though she’s naked, the atmosphere is excruciatingly tragic. Where her heart should be, there’s a massive hole.
Blood flows from that hole, running down her body and pooling beneath the pyramid, ruling out any chance of survival.
This is a ritual.
A ceremony to summon gods by using a shaman—someone called by various names in different worlds.
One cult has amassed vast funds and labor through scams, extortion, threats, multi-level marketing, and human exploitation to build this massive temple.
And they achieved their desires through all these wicked deeds.
Someone once said,
“A god of vengeance, granting immense power to those in dire straits.”
“But in exchange, they always take your life, bestowing the most sordid pleasures to the most despairing.”
“A harbinger of evil from outside, unseen in any temple.”
There are wizards who say that the hearts of the despairing pierce through the world, conjuring forth the power of emptiness—the opposite of existence—exploding and annihilating reality.
None of it might be particularly true, but at least one thing is for sure.
There is someone out there doing something for those who have hit rock bottom.
Based on that acknowledgment, the cult spread widely.
A god that could give a fighting chance to the lowest among them sounded incredibly flavorful to the weak. After suffering and then dying, suddenly there was a slim chance for revenge.
Of course, that makes for a delightful god, except for the fact they might never meet the one they’re hoping for.
Even if that hope is a fake creation born from despair and resignation.
In contrast, for the higher-ups, this idea was a thorn in their side. It meant that those lower down could now have the power to kill them.
Thus, in this world, they suppressed the religion. But the more they suppressed it, the more it spread like wildfire.
Usually, the ones suffering outnumber the exploiters.
And though it occurred sporadically, there were actual events where those prayers seemed to be answered. A whole city just poofed into nothing in a mysterious explosion.
Investigation revealed the presence of forces that shouldn’t exist in this realm, leaving them without options.
The more they investigated and shared this existence of mystery, the more the cult grew in size.
Thus, the cult was able to build such a grand altar so easily.
A bastardized religion yearning for salvation.
Even if the name is wrong, it’s not at all strange for it to reach the one responsible.
So, as a result, their god had come down to the offering.
Even moving while missing her heart was bizarre enough.
What’s more, the girl’s platinum hair became corpse-like, then awakened, and turned purple—something definitely entered her!
Therefore, verification is needed.
For the time being, it’s just a corpse acting all animated.
In a world swamped with magic, there’s no shortage of spells for moving corpses, so the people around began to grow suspicious.
Among them, the one most coldly confirming what was happening was the leader who directed the ceremony.
His name was Yasle.
Once, he was the spiritual leader of a religious state but lost everything, his family, friends, and country, due to an invading nation.
Blaming a god who never did anything for him, he turned away from the deity he once believed in. Now, he has become the leader of the current cult, which was fluctuating because of the lack of a proper leader, even though it was gaining followers.
Unlike the silent god, his side clearly responds.
As a religious leader, Yasle understood that this god did indeed respond. A deity that grants vengeance to the oppressed.
It was enough to be useful to him.
From his perspective of belief, it was slightly skewed, but still.
Thus, he employed all sorts of ritualistic methods, blending the summoning of the evil god from outside with the beliefs of his current cult.
And the result was right in front of his eyes.
Simply awakening, staring blankly around, inspecting her body—all looked like sheer failure. She seemed like someone dragged in not knowing anything.
But soon, that thought shifted.
A horrifying dark purple energy began to seep out of the wounds on her body.
The wounds quaked and twisted like they were layered with countless phantoms before gradually healing.
Actually, it appeared more bizarre than simply healing.
Seeing only the results, one could say she healed, but the middle part looked nothing short of grotesque.
The wound on her chest began to close, and there was a loud heartbeat that echoed once.
However, there were no more heartbeats after that. Instead, something began to spin noisily from there.
The heart should be pumping, but instead, it was making a rotating sound. Yasle attempted to analyze the bizarre phenomenon happening in the girl’s body, but soon stopped.
Because at that moment, she raised her gaze and stared straight at him. And that’s when he realized he had indeed succeeded in summoning something.
The girl’s face bore a greedy, insatiable longing, tainted with warmth, her eyes glimmering a shuddering purple light as they stared directly at him.
The pupils absorb light. Yet this abomination wearing the guise of a girl emitted light. It wasn’t merely a restored vision; it was physically glowing.
A disturbing symbol that would make anyone feel uncomfortable just by looking at it.
Without realizing it, Yasle lowered his head.
