From the stairway where we emerge up the hill to the never-reached cathedral, Gron and I survey the splendent façade.

Differently from the doors of the other tombs, the cathedral has real doors—now open in front of us—that open onto the central nave.

The intensity, harmless at first glance, exudes a growing power. Uncontrollable.

I feel the object in my pocket, [Dry Flare-Oil] getting hot. It burns my thigh and my hands with which I extract it. It shines with a very white light. It is painful to hold.

My fingers and palms char, and I throw it forward.

When I look up at the nave, the frozen fuel is gone, the oppressive gold and orange light coming from the structure emanates heat, and the internal columns melt like glowing bars.

It is so intense it forces me to hold Gron and look away.

From those doors of warm light come sinister noises that dissipate. I hear footsteps, fabrics, and materials rubbing together.

One breath.

CLONG-CLAK, TLAK-TLAK-TLAK…

DONG!

…

DONG!

…

DONG!

…

DONG!

CLOCK.

Everything stops. The residual heat leaves my body. The light no longer presses on my closed eyelids.

I wait and stabilize my breathing, which turns out to be labored. I feel the sweat cooling down, giving me cold shivers.

Gron struggles. Its hairy body slips out of my hands and leaps forward.

I blink a couple of times. Patches of color disappear from my field of vision.

The cathedral was plunged into darkness.

A naked body glows with a gentle steaming heat. He is incandescent. His skin darkens red as the smoke dissipates.

The dark and thick mustache, the aquiline nose, and the hardened build, but without the typical scars of adventurers.

A black and knotty hair falls behind him, starting from the back of his head and ears, bald on his otherwise shiny bald head.

Gron wags its tail at this figure's feet. But the man does not seem to see it. His eyes are fixed on me.

Not so tall, but sculpted. If I did not already know, I had thought he was some [Warrior] type.

Ci-cin.

I only realize now that we have been staring for too long.

My cheeks turn red. I feel the heat of embarrassment creeping up my neck and spreading.

I shake my ears.

“Er… er—”

“This… this situation…” he trembles. His hands, his arms, the twitches on his breastplate—Dal's body is shaken.

Despite his size, tears flow from his dark eyes. Slowly, he raises his hands to his face and sobs, kneeling.

“Dal… prr.” Gron nuzzles into his gnarled hand.

The man continues to tremble and mumbles. “It's not possible… it's different… it's different… no. It's not possible… not—”

“DAL! MEE!”

The man avoids the animal with a sudden gesture. He glares, but his expression immediately softens.

“Gron…?”

The two silent ones. Gron holds its head high and wags its tail. The man is on his knees, his abdomen inflating and deflating as he breathes.

“Dal, you're here. I looked for you. Not always, I admit, but since I've been here—MEOW!”

“Gron!” Dal takes the cat in his arms. He brings it to his chest and strokes its head, calls Gron's name, and places it back on the ground. “Gron! What are you doing here!? This limbo is not a land where the silence can pass! It's all so different, it's all…”

If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

«Fsss!»

The man looks around. He focuses his attention on me. He finally considered me.

I bow a little and lower my ears. “Nice to meet you, Dal. I am N, Empress of this land.”

I opted for the diminutive used by Gron. I hope he does not take it badly.

Not hearing any reply, I lift my head to peek.

The man is still on his knees, Gron at his side, and tries to contain his tremors.

“This place is different. It's all different. I was walking, for the umpteenth time crossing the desert and—”

Ci-cin.

“Sorry to interrupt, but what do you mean by umpteenth time and crossing? You were meditating here.”

My intervention seems to confuse him even more.

He raises his hands and looks at them. He studies the vigorous body, runs a hand over his bald head, and looks at his hands again.

“N.”

I nod. “Yes, I'm N.”

The man turns to Gron. “Gron.”

The cat nods. Dal-Dazzer stands up straight with his back straight. “I am Akmhul Dal-Dazzer. Unholy paladin and a greater alchemist. Should I consider curtsies I don't know about?”

His tone is different. The agitation has given way to a sort of politeness. Her body genuflected into a deeper bow than I did.

But it is only an appearance.

Her knees, albeit slightly, are not immobile.

“It's no use. It's no use,” I waving my hands and raising.

“N…” he weighs the word. “Everything is so different. Everything. Except for the darkness. Darkness betrays the true nature of a place. It hides its superficial appearance and amplifies its dangerous nature. The ambush is nature itself, impossible to hide.” Returning to look at the darkness that surrounds us. “N, so it was you who finished my punishment?”

“Punishment? Hmm… isn't that a form of meditation?”

“Oh, um… the name of the status is Otherworldly meditation, true but it's a punishment. Are you not a deity, N? Did I assume something wrong? No. I mean, I—I—I like… I can't believe… so… indeed—”

Dal-Dazzer is hyperventilating. He is starting to tremble again and puts his head in his hands.

I would reassure him. But I have no idea how to do it.

“Er… I'm not exactly a deity. I'm not sure what you mean. I understood that many Eldritch Entities are considered divinities by many inhabitants of the cosmos.”

“And you don't mean to enslave me? Punish me? Put me back in my place!? I…”

“No!” I move my hands for emphasis. “None of this! But how do you come up with that!?”

“Here you are…”

“Dal, N is a friend of mine. Prr.”

Dal-Dazzer is in a state of total confusion. In moments of clarity, I grasp that there is something, but he is deeply disturbed by some event I do not know about.

“N!”

Ci-cin.

“Yes?”

Throwing himself to the ground. “If Gron is your friend. I will enslave myself without resistance. So, accepts my body and—”

“Um… well… could you stop? We're here to ask for your help… but you seem more scared than anything else.”

“Yeah, prr. Dal, you have never been like this!”

The man gets up. He moves a strand of hair from his shoulder.

“You are right. I'm unpresentable. Terror makes me pitiful. Excuse me. I was arrogant. I thought I was a god, so the god punished me.”

“I know you met Leviathan.”

He nods and trembles. “Exact. Then you know. Then you are a deity.”

“Please continue with your story.”

“I, Akmhul Dal-Dazzer, am an Unholy paladin. I also have great knowledge of the forge and alchemy. The two disciplines and my work have led me to have great power. A power that has made me unparalleled in my world.”

Gron nods. “Indeed, you created me!”

“Yes. But then, tired of having the world at my feet even though I never formally conquered it… well, I started traveling the cosmos. I have developed arcane techniques; I have made pacts with horrendous beings. Including this god of the cosmic abyss.”

“Can such pacts be made?”

Gron licks its chops. “Of course, N. They're Warlock's agreements. They are different, but they resemble our relationship. As I am your Priest. Warlocks are bonded in a more physical, less spiritual way.”

“Right, right. I had forgotten about this possibility.”

Dal waits for the discussion between me and Gron to end.

“However, having made this pact, I have traveled into the abyss into which it invited me. It said it was amazed at my great power and wanted proof. So, I showed it what I was capable of. In exchange, it gave me forbidden knowledge…”

“And?”

“…and then punished me for obtaining such knowledge. Whoever wants power must bear the consequences. So, it told me. It used a divine ability: Temporal Guillotine. And it imprisoned my body in an eternal stasis and outside of time. Forced to meditate eternally on my presumptuous life, always reliving it. And maintaining the memories of each cycle. Without…”

He starts sobbing and shaking again.

“…without ever being able to change a thing. Always feeling the same emotions. Without being able to relieve awareness and the oppression of knowledge. With every cycle, I wanted to change a thousand things. But nothing changed, nothing changed!”

[Temporal Guillotine]

[Corruption] and [Judgment]. He calls it ‘divine’, but it is a System mastership.

His pain is terrible. I dare not imagine myself imprisoned for an eternity stuck in the failure I have ever experienced.

The [Leviathan] is terrible.

Who would have thought that… no, I do not have to judge it. Not like that. The System will decide on its conduct.

It is my equal, if not superior. I cannot speak without hearing your version of events, but…

Gron meows, getting our attention. It gives me an eloquent look.

Right. A promise is a promise.

I check the [WARNING] screen and have no reason to worry. Perhaps by talking to Gron alone, Dal can calm down. We need clear support. There is little we can do.

Ci-cin.

“Gron. I'll leave you for a moment. When you are ready, pray for me.”

The cat raises its paw in greeting.

[Dungeon path]

♦

[Temporal Guillotine]

Waiting in front of the not-yet-collapsed Dal-Dazzer mausoleum, I think of those words.

A terrible [skill]. An ability used against the people who meditate in this place.

A terrible fate. Like death, like cancellation.

[Corruption], [Obliteration], [Temporal Guillotine], [Judgment]… all abilities that lead to the same result.

Exclusion from life.

The System throws away its waste. Isolates. From the uncontaminated vital flow. Why? What does all this mean?

All these fates seem horrible and contrary to happiness.

Even [status: Dream], the successful outcome of [Judgment] is viewed with suspicion and fear by the living. I would be afraid of being judged.

I am calm thanks to the privilege of [Immortality].

Not even the [Leviathan], not even the [Devil], are safe despite the [Cosmic regeneration].

Who knows if this also applies to Irferno, the metal undead, and Y.

Who knows, maybe Y hides further knowledge differently from these...

Poor Dal. A terrible fate.

I look up at the black. Some golden veins pierce the monotony.

Poor everyone. Neither alive nor dead. Bodies stuck in a time of suspended, eternal regret.

I shrug. I look at my twitching toes.

I was right not to challenge the [Emperor]. I did well.