Chapter 55
Deep within the darkness of the underground, a ritual was underway.
Under the unsettlingly dim light of torches and candles, multiple sacrifices
writhed in agony.
“Descend upon us!!”
As the high priest leading the incantation let out a fervent cry, the
sacrifices suddenly screamed in unison. Their trembling bodies burst apart in
an instant, transforming into torrents of blood.
Viscera and flesh mixed within the crimson flood, which slithered toward the
center of the altar as if it had a will of its own.
The blood coalesced, congealing into a single mass, gradually shaping into a
human form.
Bones materialized first, followed by muscles and veins weaving into place.
Organs nestled into position, completing the grotesque reconstruction.
Before long, the blood had fully formed into a human figure.
A woman, her entire body covered in dozens of staring eyes.
She was the Chosen of the Dark God.
Her body trembled violently before she finally opened her eyes, gasping as she
collapsed onto the floor.
“The Chosen One!”
“The ritual was a success!”
The Chosen was granted multiple lives, but each time she perished, she
required a new vessel to be resurrected in. For this rebirth alone, the
priests of the Dark God’s cult had exhausted an enormous stockpile of grudges
and sacrificial offerings that they had painstakingly accumulated.
It was an unspeakable loss, but they had no other choice.
Despite the priests’ rejoicing, the newly revived Chosen did not seem pleased.
No.
She was terrified.
The countless eyes on her body slowly turned toward a corner of the altar.
A pitch-black entity was rising from the ground, its form horrifyingly dark.
The Chosen’s entire body shuddered. Then, she immediately prostrated herself
on the ground.
“O… O Dark God…!”
“Bow down!!”
The high priests, who had only now registered the presence before them,
collapsed to the ground in terror, pressing their foreheads to the floor.
The eerie black figure slowly advanced toward its trembling followers and then
spoke.
You have disappointed me.
A whispering roar.
The voice itself was not physically loud, yet it shook the very souls of all
who heard it. The pain was unbearable—everyone present clutched their ears and
collapsed.
Everyone except for one.
The Chosen alone remained upright.
“Forgive us!! … Please, have mercy!!”
She gritted her teeth, desperately pleading.
At those words, the Dark God’s voice fell silent.
I even granted you a fragment of myself… And yet, not only did you fail, but you squandered one of the Chosen’s lives in the process? I have never seen such incompetence.
“It was because of the Saint of Healing. If not for him, we would have
succeeded.”
The Chosen’s body trembled.
Even uttering his name made her shudder.
The Saint of Healing.
Their spies had been planted within the Solar Order at great cost—only to be
immediately discovered.
The fragment of the Dark God they had spent decades preparing had been
obliterated in an instant.
More than twenty years of careful planning, meticulous sacrifices, and immense
investments—all reduced to nothing in the blink of an eye.
The sheer loss was beyond calculation.
For the foreseeable future, the Dark God’s cult would have no choice but to
retreat into the shadows, licking their wounds in silence.
I do not care for your excuses.
At the Dark God’s chilling remark, the Chosen immediately pressed her forehead
to the ground.
“We are deeply sorry… Please, grant us your forgiveness…”
For now, remain in hiding. I will tolerate no further losses. Grow your strength in the darkness.
“As you command.”
And I shall personally eliminate the Saint of Healing. Mark my words—he is extremely dangerous.
The Chosen flinched at those words.
The Dark God had deemed someone dangerous.
Even during the Celestial War three hundred years ago, when gods and heroes
clashed, the Dark God had rarely uttered that word—even when facing the
mightiest warriors, saints, and holy champions of the Pantheon.
“O Dark God… If I may be so bold as to ask… What exactly is the Saint of
Healing? We cannot decipher his powers at all.”
The abilities of each deity’s Chosen were always clear-cut.
The Chosen of the God of Annihilation wielded destruction.
The Chosen of the God of Prophecy possessed foresight.
But the Goddess of Grace had never, in all of history, granted a saint or a
saintess to humanity.
No records existed of what powers her Chosen might wield.
“If we are to eliminate him in the future… we require your wisdom. Please,
bestow your knowledge upon your unworthy servants. What divine authority has
the Goddess of Grace granted her Chosen?”
The Chosen hesitated as she asked—but then, the Dark God suddenly let out a
laugh.
My Chosen. You are mistaken.
“…What do you mean?”
It was not that whore of grace who sent him to this world.
The Chosen’s eyes widened.
But… Everyone called him the Saint of Healing, the Chosen of the Goddess of
Grace.
If the goddess had not sent him… then who had?
“I… do not understand.”
To grant a saint or a saintess to humanity consumes an immense amount of divine power. Many gods who carelessly bestowed saints have found themselves diminished—some have even fallen into oblivion
“Which is why Lilia must have chosen to send one now, no? She has never
granted a saint before, meaning she must have stockpiled her strength. It
makes sense that she would now bestow a saint of great power to hinder us…
does it not?”
No. That whore of grace… has no such strength.
The Dark God let out a dry, mocking laugh.
Because three hundred years ago… during the Celestial War… apart from those gods who were utterly destroyed, none among the Pantheon suffered greater wounds than her.
***
The gods of the Celestial Realm.
The demons of Hell.
And beneath them all, the dark gods of the Abyss.
The war in which all these forces clashed together—that was the Celestial War.
A war so monumental that even demons and dark gods, eternal enemies, had
momentarily set aside their enmity to launch a joint assault against the
Pantheon.
At first, the war had been overwhelmingly in favor of the dark gods and demon
coalition.
Many of the Pantheon’s gods had suffered grievous injuries, and some had even
lost their divine status entirely, plummeting to the mortal realm.
That was why, among the twenty-four seats of the Pantheon, some remained
vacant to this day.
However, among those who had not fallen—among those who still retained their
divine status in the Celestial Realm—none had suffered greater wounds than
Lilia, the Goddess of Grace.
That whore Lilia is barely capable of sending the faintest divine power to her
followers. A Saint
She doesn’t have the strength left to create one. Let alone a Saint powerful
enough to shatter a fragment of my very being in an instant. If she had truly
sent such a Saint, she would have immediately lost her divinity and fallen to
the mortal realm.
The Chosen’s eyes wavered violently.
Not a creation of the Goddess?
Then… who was this being, whom everyone revered as the Saint of Grace?
Who was he, that he had become such a massive obstacle to their plans?
“…Could it be that one of the Pantheon’s other Chosen has been mistaken for
the Saint of Grace?”
That is not possible. Do you think the other gods are in any better condition?
Consider this—why do you think, for the past three hundred years, there have
been no Saints, no Holy Warriors, nor any Divine Champions among humankind?
Certain gods, like Dulanier, the God of Destruction, and Lupiel, the God of
Prophecy, had the strength to bestow Saints or Champions if they so wished.
But for most of the Pantheon, their method of choosing a Chosen had been far
simpler—they simply selected the most devout among their followers.
For three hundred years, not a single Saint, Holy Warrior, or Champion had
appeared.
This meant that while the other gods were in better condition than Lilia, they
were still far from whole.
“Then… then who…?”
A Saint, possessing the power to eradicate a fragment of the Dark God in an
instant.
Yet, not created by any of the gods.
The Chosen, deep in thought, suddenly froze.
There was only one possibility.
“…Are you saying… his power as a Saint came from Hell?”
Hell.
If there was anything the Dark God despised more than the Pantheon’s gods, it
was the demons of Hell.
Why?
Because three hundred years ago, during the Celestial War, just when victory
had seemed certain for their side—
The demons had betrayed them.
Without hesitation, Hell had turned on the Dark God’s forces, stabbing them in
the back.
Chaos erupted within their ranks.
The Pantheon, seizing the opportunity, had united and crushed both the dark
gods and the demons—securing victory for themselves.
Of course, it was a Pyrrhic victory.
Unlike the demons and dark gods, who had immediately retreated into hiding,
the Pantheon had remained, expending vast amounts of power to ensure the war’s
devastation did not spread to the mortal realm.
In the end, while the Pantheon had won, they had also suffered the greatest
losses.
Correct.
The Dark God gritted his teeth, his voice laced with fury.
The Chosen’s face twisted in disbelief.
“How… No, how could someone wielding Hell’s power be revered as a Saint? Are
you certain you’re not mistaken…?”
I saw it with my own eyes. When a fragment of my power was destroyed within
him, I looked deep into his soul and saw the true source of his power. I did
not misjudge. That boy… wields the power of Hell.
The Dark God’s rage burned through the air, his presence suffocating.
It was as if just imagining it made him sick to his stomach.
“…What kind of power does he have?”
The greatest master of deception and trickery to ever exist within both the
Abyss and Hell. A being so adept at disguising itself that it walked freely
between the Abyss and the Pantheon’s domain, slipping through divine defenses
as if they were mere veils.
The Dark God spat the words out with pure hatred.
And the only one of the Seven Demon Kings whose seat still remains empty.
“…No… it can’t be.”
There was only one being in Hell that matched that description.
The Chosen’s voice trembled as she whispered the name.
“Lust.”
One of the Seven Demon Kings.
“The Creator of Deception and Corruption.”
The only Demon King to have been truly destroyed in the Celestial War.
“Asmodeus.”
But how?
“…Dark God, if Saint Amiel truly possesses the power of Lust, then why has the
Pantheon done nothing? Why have they not moved against him?”
If Asmodeus’ power truly resided within him, then wasn’t he a walking
disaster?
Even more bizarrely, Dulanier, the God of Destruction—who hated demons and
dark gods above all else—had not lifted a finger.
It made no sense.
At those words, the Dark God chuckled darkly.
Lust’s power is unique. His ability reflects the user’s will perfectly. If he
wishes to be a demon, he becomes one. If he wishes to be a god, he manifests
divine power. Even I, along with the Pantheon, were once fooled by that
ability during the Celestial War.
“…Then…?”
When I gazed into his soul… I saw it. That fool is… pitifully pure. Naïve,
even. A boy so good-hearted that it’s almost laughable. And so, Lust’s power
has taken the shape of his innocence—projecting nothing but goodness. That is
why the Pantheon does not perceive his power as evil.
“…Unbelievable.”
Even I failed to recognize him for what he was—until my own essence was
destroyed by him. Which means… out of everyone—the Pantheon, Hell, the Abyss—I
alone know his true nature.
And yet, another question remained.
“If the gods see him using a power that was not given by them, won’t they
start questioning its origins?”
Do you remember the gods who fell from the Celestial War? Many of their divine
essences were lost. The Pantheon likely assumes that one of those fallen
divinities was reborn in human form—explaining his powers. And with the
Pantheon desperate to recover their strength, they are unlikely to question
him. A being who amplifies faith? Why would they doubt him?
“…But wouldn’t the gods at least try to speak with him? Wouldn’t they attempt
to confirm his identity?”
At that, the Dark God grinned—a chilling, delighted grin.
That is the beauty of it, my Chosen.
His laughter deepened.
The Celestial War left Heaven in ruins. The Pantheon can no longer descend to
the mortal realm freely. Even prophecies from Lupiel are rare and cryptic. But
I am different. I can still interfere with the mortal world. And so, here is
what I shall do.
The Dark God’s voice dripped with amusement.
Hell wants to reclaim Lust’s power. The Pantheon wants to protect it. I will
use this… to make them clash. And once they destroy each other…
A whisper of triumph.
…Wouldn’t that be the most perfect victory of all?
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