Wasn’t This a Night Game

Source of Power

In the dark underground, a ritual was in full swing.

Under the ambiguously bright, almost sickening glow of torches and candles, various sacrifices writhed.

“Descend!”

As the high priest screamed the incantation, the sacrifices abruptly began to scream at the top of their lungs.

The trembling sacrifices exploded in an instant, turning into a bloody mess. A scarlet pool, a mixture of human entrails and bits of flesh, gathered toward the center of the altar where the ritual was taking place, as if it were a living thing.

The pools of blood began to congeal together, taking on a human form.

Bones formed, followed by muscles and blood vessels, and organs slowly began to settle into place.

And before long, the pools of blood had returned to the complete form of a human.

A woman covered in dozens of eyeballs.

The Chosen of the Evil God.

She trembled violently, then opened her eyes, collapsing onto the floor with a thud.

“Chosen One!”

“The ritual… it succeeded!”

The Chosen One possessed many lives, but each time the body died, it had to be resurrected anew.

For this resurrection ritual, the priests of the Evil God’s Order had exhausted a massive store of grudges and sacrifices, accumulated painstakingly over time.

A loss that drew tears of blood, but they had no choice in the matter.

Everyone rejoiced, but the resurrected Chosen One herself looked far from pleased.

No.

Terrified, more like.

The dozens of eyeballs dotting her body and face slowly turned to stare at one corner.

One side of the altar.

A form, terribly, terribly black, was rising slowly from the earth.

At the sight, the Chosen One trembled, then pressed herself flat against the floor.

“O, Evil God!…”

“Prostrate yourselves!!”

The high priests, belatedly registering the scene, likewise threw themselves to the ground, shaking violently.

The bizarre black form slowly approached its followers, then opened its mouth.

[You have disappointed me.]

It was a silent roar.

The physical sound itself was certainly not loud, but everyone present clutched at their ears and collapsed, overwhelmed by the soul-shattering sensation.

Only one person did not fall.

The Chosen One.

“Forgiveness!!…….Please, forgiveness!!”

The Chosen One grit his teeth, enduring, begging with all his might.

At those words, the Evil God ceased his roaring.

[I bestowed even a part of myself upon you lot. Yet, instead of succeeding with it, you return having consumed even the Chosen One’s life force? Never have I seen such incompetent beings.]

“The Saint of Healing. Had it not been for that *one*, we would have succeeded.”

The Chosen One trembled violently.

The mere thought of that name sent shivers down his spine.

The Saint of Healing.

After sacrificing everything to plant spies within the Sun Cult, he rooted them out immediately.

The Evil God’s shard, carefully prepared and nurtured for ages, he obliterated in one fell swoop.

At least twenty years of preparation and care, utterly reduced to nothingness in a single instant.

The amount of grudges consumed, the sacrifices made, the time invested…

The losses were far too severe.

The Evil God’s Order would likely have to do more than just refrain from action for the time being. They would have to hide silently in the darkness, focusing solely on recovery.

[I do not desire excuses.]

The Evil God spoke a single, frigid sentence, and the Chosen One immediately bowed his head.

“I am deeply sorry. Please, forgiveness…”

[Refrain from movement for the time being. We must prevent any further losses. Nurture your strength quietly in the darkness.]

“I will do so.”

[And I, myself, shall. The Saint of Healing. I shall eliminate that *one*. Remember this well. He is exceedingly dangerous.]

The Chosen One flinched at the Evil God’s words.

Dangerous. The Evil God had spoken the word.

Even during the Heavenly War three hundred years past, even when battling the famed warriors, saints, and saintesses of the pantheon, records of the Evil God uttering the word “dangerous” were exceedingly rare.

“Evil God. I dare to ask a question. The Saint of Healing… what exactly *is* he? We could not grasp the nature of his power, not in the slightest.”

The Chosen of each god were distinct.

The Chosen of the God of Annihilation, his power was clear. So too with the Chosen of the God of Prophecy.

But the Goddess of Grace… never, not once in all of history, had She bestowed a saint upon humankind.

So, of course, they couldn’t discern his abilities.

“Even to eliminate him at a later time… we require Your wisdom. Bestow knowledge upon us, your incapable servants. What power has the Goddess of Grace granted to Her Chosen?”

As the Chosen One cautiously inquired, the Evil God abruptly burst into laughter.

[My Chosen. You misunderstand something.]

“Misunderstand… what?”

[The Whore of Grace did not send that one into the world.]

The Chosen One’s eyes widened.

Hadn’t everyone called him the Saint of Healing? The Chosen of the Goddess of Grace?

Not sent by the Goddess?

“…I do not comprehend.”

[Bestowing a saint upon humanity entails an extreme expenditure of power. I have seen many divine beings whose stature diminished and ultimately perished, just from incorrectly bestowing a saint.]

“So, all the more reason Lilia would send one! She has never bestowed a saint before, so she must have accumulated a great deal of power. She must have bestowed a saint with immense power to hinder us… am I wrong?”

[Nay. The Whore of Grace. The b*tch lacks that kind of strength. Because, you see…]

The evil god cackled, mocking.

[300 years ago. She’d been hurt worse than any god in the Pantheon, save for those who’d lost their divinity entirely and fallen during the Celestial War.]

*

Celestial gods and hell’s devils. And the evil gods of the Abyss, lower still, all mixed together in a fight.

That was the Celestial War.

Enemies at their very core, demons and evil gods had, rarely, joined forces to attack the Pantheon. In this grand war, the allied forces of evil gods and demons held an absolute advantage in the beginning.

Many of the Pantheon’s gods were severely wounded, some even losing their divinity and falling to earth.

Because of this, several seats in the Pantheon, meant for twenty-four gods, remained vacant.

And amongst the gods who still held their divinity in the heavens, those who *hadn’t* fallen…

None were as gravely wounded as Lilia, the Goddess of Grace.

[That whore Lilia, she’s barely able to send even a scrap of divine power to her followers. A Saint? She wouldn’t have the strength. Much less a Saint with the power to shatter my fragment in a single blow. If she’d gifted humanity with such a Saint, she’d have instantly lost her position and plummeted to earth.]

The Chosen’s eyes widened, reeling.

Not sent by the goddess?

Then who, in the hells, was this being, lauded by all as the Saint of Grace?

Who was it, that posed such a monumental obstacle to them?

“Could it be… one of the Chosen of another Pantheon god, mistakenly believed to be the Saint of Grace?”

[Impossible. The other gods aren’t exactly in tip-top shape either. Think about why humanity hasn’t been granted Saints, Sages, or Heroes for three hundred years.]

Gods like Dulanear of Annihilation or Rupiel of the Future certainly had the strength to bestow a Saint, Sage or Hero, but instead of looking at qualifications and sending a chosen one, most of the gods appointed the most devoted of their worshippers as their chosen one.

The fact that there hadn’t been any Saints, Sages, or Heroes for three hundred years meant the other gods were in better shape than Lilia, but far from normal.

“Then who… who, in the name of the gods…”

A Saint, possessing the power to annihilate a fragment of the Evil God in a single blow.

But the conclusion reached was that this being wasn’t descended from the Pantheon’s gods.

The Chosen One paused, lost in thought.

There was only one thing.

A plausible hypothesis.

“…Could it be that the Saint’s power… comes from Hell?”

Hell.

The Evil God detested the devils of Hell more than even the Pantheon gods in this world.

And why was that?

Because, three hundred years ago, during the celestial war, the moment victory seemed assured, the devils had, as if it were the most natural thing, betrayed the Evil God, stabbing him in the back.

Infighting erupted, and in that chaos, the Pantheon gods united and swept away both the Evil God and the devils of Hell, thus, victory returned to the Pantheon.

A Pyrrhic victory, of course.

Unlike the devils of Hell, who swiftly retreated when the situation turned sour for them and the Evil God, the Pantheon gods had to expend a great deal of power cleaning up the aftermath of the war to prevent it from spilling onto the mortals of the land.

Because of that, although the victory belonged to the Pantheon, they were, in truth, the ones who suffered the greatest damage.

[That is correct.]

The Chosen One’s face twisted in disbelief at the Evil God’s grinding words.

“How…? No, how can someone with the power of Hell be revered as a Saint? Perhaps you’ve made a mistake?…”

[When a part of me was annihilated within that creature, I clearly saw the origin of his power, buried deep within his soul. There is no mistake, no miscalculation. He undoubtedly… possesses the power of Hell.]

The Evil God ground his teeth.

As if the mere thought made him want to vomit, his rage filled the room.

“Just what sort of power *is* it, then?”

[The most skilled in disguise and deceit, throughout all of Hell and the Abyss. So perfect in their deception and camouflage that they frequented the Abyss and the Pantheon as if they were their own backyard.]

The Evil God spat out the words, as if loathing them.

[And currently, the only one of Hell’s Seven Great Demons whose seat remains vacant.]

“No way… No way…”

There was only one being in Hell that met all those conditions.

The Chosen One spoke the name in a trembling voice.

“Lust.”

One of the Seven Great Demons.

“The creator of deceit and corruption.”

The only Great Demon annihilated during the Heavenly War.

“Asmodeus.”

But doubt soon arose.

“Evil God. But if Saint Amael truly possesses the power of Lust… why is the Pantheon still leaving him be?”

Wasn’t it tantamount to letting the Great Demon of Lust shout and scream in their own living room?

Especially with Dulanir, God of Evil Annihilation, who goes mad at the sight of demons and Evil Gods, remaining still didn’t make any sense, no matter how much I thought about it.

The Evil God chuckled at those words.

[That Lust b*stard’s power is quite special. His power perfectly reflects the user’s will. If he wants to mimic a demon, he becomes a demon, and if he wants to mimic the gods, he becomes a divine power. Back during the Heavenly War. Even I, and the gods of the Pantheon, were fooled by that power.]

“Then…?”

[When I entered that Saint’s soul. I saw his inner self. A guy so foolishly pure and good. Lust’s power is projecting that inner will as it is. So the gods of the Pantheon likely don’t think his power is evil.]

“Gods above.”

[Even I, until a part of me seeped into his soul and glimpsed his essence, remained utterly oblivious. Perhaps uniquely so. Across Pantheon, Hell, and the bottomless Abyss, perhaps I alone know his true face.]

Yet, questions linger.

“Despite wielding power unborrowed from the Pantheon, won’t the Gods suspect the source of his authority?”

[Recall the divine sparks of the Pantheon, cast down to earth during the Celestial War. They likely mistake him for one such spark, born anew within a human vessel. Furthermore, the Gods desperately crave faith for their restoration. A being with benevolent powers, amplifying that faith – why would they suspect such a gift?]

“If truly they are so mistaken, why do the Gods not seek conversation with him? To clarify his identity through dialogue?”

[That, my Chosen, is the beauty of it all.]

The Evil God’s laughter crescendoes.

[The Celestial Realm lies shattered from the war’s aftermath, rendering it nigh impossible for the Gods of the Pantheon to directly manifest and deliver divine pronouncements to humanity. Only Lupiel, that wretch, delivers prophecies on rare occasion. But I am different. I can freely meddle in the mortal realm. And thus, I conceive this…]

The Evil God’s voice held a mirth born of anticipation.

[Hell seeks to reclaim the powers of the Lustful One, while the Pantheon strives to protect him. Exploiting this, I shall orchestrate a conflict between Pantheon and Hell. If both sides destroy one another… could there be a more… flawless victory?]