This time, however, the system returned to normal almost instantly.
I apologize for the error, Host. I think that is a perfectly good idea.
Really? Achylys asked, feeling rather surprised. Also, you okay? You glitched rather violently.
I am fine, Host. Yes, I do think it is a good idea. It will be a minor edit to change it to non toxic, after all.
That’s true. Achylys bit his lip lightly in thought. Editing the Forest King didn’t cause any problems, so maybe I’m indeed being a bit too paranoid.
Of course.
*
Of course. A wicked grin spread across Demise's face as he thought those words. His eyes, sharp and piercing, glinted like those of a demon's, sending shivers down the spines of all who dared to look into them. It was as if the very flames of hell burned within their depths, casting an eerie glow upon his face.
With a voice that sounded rather pleasant and soothing to the ears, Demise spoke once again. "Of course," he repeated, his words dripping with malice. His tone was filled with glee, like he was a child who’d just received candy.
“Eriket’s apostle…. is truly pitiful.” As Demise looked at the screen in front of him, his lips curved into a sly smile. He truly did think so—that Eriket's apostle was pitiful. After all, with a single mistake, the apostle had brought upon his own destruction. When Demise had attached his masterpiece to the thread related to the sentinels, he was initially doubtful, even though He had advised him to do so.
After all, it was a thread he’d developed over the course of months, and it was very well hidden. There was no risk the citadel would check it either—it had blended in with the core, after all. But it had worked out now. Even better than He had said it might. And the funniest part was... he had been able to lead the apostle to its own destruction.
The gods would deal with the apostle now, and all Demise had to do was sit back and watch the show. It was a satisfying feeling, knowing that he had been able to play a being chosen by Eriket himself. He felt a sense of pride, one that he had dutifully suppressed of course, but traces of it still lurked around. Knowing that he had outsmarted both an apostle, and potentially multiple gods… oh god. That just felt way too good.
Demise slouched into his chair, a grin spreading over his face once more. Turning his attention to the empty chair across from him, he continued to speak in a hushed tone. "Eriket, oh Eriket," he muttered under his breath, "why must the gods be so irresponsible?" He shook his head, his hair falling in tangled strands around his face.
For a moment, there was silence in the room, broken only by the occasional creak of the old wooden chair beneath him. But then Demise spoke again, his voice barely above a whisper.
"Did Eriket seriously give his apostle direct access to the Core without even telling him the most basic of rules?" he mused. "That is the height of irresponsibility. And yet, here we are, with his apostle soon about to be dealing with the consequences."
Right at that moment, the door to Demise's room creaked open, and he turned to face the visitor. The sight that greeted him was ghastly - a man with half his face burnt off stood before him, gasping for air. It was a horrific sight, but one Demise appreciated. This man was a loyal subordinate who had burnt his face while completing a task he himself had assigned, after all. Demise felt somber rather than disgusted at the sight of the man.
Even as he struggled to catch his breath, the man spoke with urgency. "We've readied it," he declared, his voice hoarse and ragged. "Milord, the underground chamber is ready."
"The anti-citadel incantations?" Demise asked, his voice echoing through the room. The question hung in the air like a tangible thing, his tone ice cold and regal.
“Ready.” The man's response was prompt and concise, his words carrying a sense of confidence that could only come from years of experience. “All traces of mana and divinity have been wiped from the area, milord.”
“Perfect.” Demise smiled, a smile very few ever saw.
For the next twenty four hours… Demise smugly thought while looking at the translucent blue screen in front of him, not even the gods will be able to find me.
Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.
*
The Sentinels Of <#####>
These sacred yet ill beings were released from their endless curse by
[EXPAND?]
System, in ‘The dust they release is extremely toxic’, change the word ‘toxic’ into safe. To really etch the nail into the coffin, he continued, In ‘must stay cautious of the poison they can spread’, change ‘poison’ to… ‘harmless dust’.
Achylys bit his lower lip again. He’d just spent all three of the providence points he’d gotten. Then, he remembered that he was basically immortal—he could just try it again if something went wrong or things didn’t go as planned.
Right, I’m a researcher in spirit!
{EDIT REQUEST RECEIVED}
{PROCESSING…}
{ATTEMPTING TO ACCESS CORE}
{ERROR. ACCESS DENIED}
{FORCEFULLY BREAKING THROUGH FIREWALL}
{
{
{
{
Obligatory warning:
Run.
Run? Achylys narrowed his eyes. What? However, unlike normally, he was unable to crack jokes. It was because of the deep fear that crawled in his gut. Alarms were blaring in his mind—something was wrong. And this something was very very wrong. He’d only felt this afraid once in his life: when he’d lost all his comrades to an EX-Class Calamity in his previous life, and he’d also almost nearly died.
He trusted his gut. And he didn’t like what his gut was telling him.
Achylys let his gaze wander around. The towering trees, with their ancient bark and majestic leaves, had always been a sight to behold. But now, the once brilliant hues of the foliage, ones he found beautiful and enchanting, seemed to have taken a sinister turn. As he gazed around, he couldn't shake off the feeling that something was amiss.
The forest that once welcomed him with open arms now seemed to be holding its breath, as if in anticipation of something ominous. The rustling of leaves and the chirping of birds were conspicuously absent, leaving an eerie silence that only added to his unease.
Suddenly, Achylys's heart froze, and he felt the hairs on the back of his neck prickling. It was as if he could sense the presence of others, lurking in the shadows, waiting for the perfect moment to strike. He strained his ears, but all he could hear was the sound of his own heartbeat pounding against his chest.
He knew he was not alone. The feeling of being watched was overwhelming, and it made him feel vulnerable, exposed to an unseen threat. He tried to calm his nerves, reminding himself of his years of training, but the feeling refused to leave him.
Then, as abruptly as a wildfire consumes a forest, they appeared. Dozens upon dozens of masked figures, garbed in white robes that shimmered like moonlight upon a glassy lake. Their faces were hidden behind glossy, featureless masks, a stark contrast to the darkening forest that framed their unnerving visages. Achylys spun around, searching for an escape, but the sea of white surrounding him seemed endless, as if every tree had spawned one of these spectral beings.
A cold sweat beaded upon Achylys's brow as the truth of his predicament began to crystallize. He steeled himself, his lips setting into a grim line. Sole Thunder! He shouted in his head and lifted his finger, determined to lay waste to the eerie, silent throng that now encroached upon him, but… failed.
To his shock, the skill did not answer his call. A deadly calm set upon Achylys’s mind as he realized what was happening. His trust in his instincts seemed to prove right this time too. These enemies were not in his realm. They were not beings he could face or even hope to resist at his current level of strength.
Does that mean he’d give up? Fuck no.
The innumerable white-robed figures closed in, their breath as cold and damp as the tomb. The masked figure nearest to him, its voice a deathly whisper, spoke. "Virus B129SJ53 has been identified. Moving in.”
Achylys leapt at the nearest figure, hoping to take down at least one of them with him. It was then that the forest, silent no longer, filled with the sound of a thousand drawn swords. The white figures, now armed with cruel, slender blades that seemed to glow with a cold, ethereal light, moved as one, skewering Achylys with a merciless and unified strike. For the first time since forever, Achylys felt pain. And the pain was overwhelming, an agony that threatened to rend his very soul from his body.
But even as the life seeped from his broken form, and Achylys felt his consciousness slipping away, he could see his body being consumed in a funeral pyre by the silver-blue flames that seemed to have been prepared for him. The heat of the flames was intense, searing his skin and filling his nostrils with the acrid smell of burning flesh. But even as his body disintegrated into ash, his mind remained alert, a disembodied witness to his own demise.
As darkness began filling his vision, probably because the flame began burning through his eyes, Achylys' consciousness began to fade too.
"Body has been destroyed," the lead figure hissed, the sound like the rustling of autumn leaves. "Procedure B1, soul purification has been initiated."
Those were the last words Achylys heard before he lost consciousness.
Or to be more accurate,
Died.