Deus raised the pistol, lining it up with both their heads.

Bang!

The bullet pierced Mariel’s head, passing straight through it before drilling into Monte’s head. The blood which oozed from it evaporated instantly, and their screams ceased.

Meanwhile, the horses had snapped the harnesses which tied them to the wagons, fleeing while leaving their owners to burn.

As he beheld their lifeless bodies, the voice which he’d suppressed shouted out once more, overwhelming his thoughts. The headache intensified and he was on the verge of passing out.

Deus clenched his fists, pushing back against these thoughts with his willpower, I need to persevere!

His eyes moistened slightly, but he couldn’t clearly distinguish whether it was caused by that ‘other self’ of his [Fractured Self ] ability, or the thick smoke which was exuded from their burning bodies.

The smoke! I need to back up!

Deus staggered backwards, his mind a little lightheaded from the oppressive heat and the lack of oxygen.

He stumbled on a mouse carcass, plummeting back. Just as his head was about to collide with the cobblestones paving the road, his elbows instinctively shot out, breaking his fall.

I shouldn’t have bothered. He coughed, then cursed as his mind was slowly overwhelmed by that pestering voice, Save them! Save them!

Shut up!

A couple of meters frontwards, two orbs permeated from Monte’s and Mariel’s corpses which were still bright alight. They immediately began rotating adjacently, spiraling faster and faster until one absorbed the other.

At that moment, the orb’s trajectory diverted, slowly moving into his direction. Simultaneously, that desire to absorb them emerged.

While before he managed to suppress it, his mental clarity was now clouded by a blend of mixed emotions and thoughts aimlessly fluttering around.

He clenched his grip on the cobblestones which lay behind him, pulling himself backwards. This was a reaction of his willpower alone, towering over his emotions and thoughts.

However, while the distance between him and the orb grew slightly, it was soon shortened again as the speed of the orb increased.

Each inch that it did, the inner screams intensified as if deeply resonating with it, fiercely desiring to absorb that orb. He couldn’t resist as it seeped into his body.

[ Assimilating Firmament… ]

[ Firmament assimilated successfully. ]

[ Warning: high risk of destabilization! ]

[ Activating skill “Fractured Self” forcibly... ]

[ Soul fracturing... ]

Deus sensed his innards slowly squirming. A flood of thoughts invaded his inner mind, all yearning for a single desire:

I want to escape from this body!

A severe sense of wrongness overwhelmed him and he convulsed, pulling his legs to his stomach. He retched, tears welling and mucus dripping from his nose.

He convulsed again, disgorging all that was once-chicken-broth onto the puddled stone ground.

His arm’s outer skin swelled, stretching it forcefully. He screamed loudly but persisted, squinching to readjust his blurred wet pupils.

When his vision cleared, he saw clearly; the swelling was in the shape of another two hands, trying to escape his body!

Squelch!

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As Deus lay on the ground, paralyzed in severe pain, his drenched linen shirt ripped apart from his bulging stomach.

A figure jolted from him, passing right through his skin which turned slightly jelly. The figure was coated in a shimmering viscous black mucus which gushed onto Deus who lay below.

At this moment, the black clouds which blanketed the sky parted, casting a dazzling moonshine onto the scene below.

The rain gradually died down, washing away all blood which still remained. With the last flicker of the flame, it was quenched as well.

The ambience was tranquil.

[ Soul fractured. ]

[ Skill “Fractured Self” activated successfully. ]

[ Notice: Risk of destabilization lowered slightly. ]

[ Categorizing new skill… ]

[ Skill categorized successfully: “Liminal Gateway”. ]

…

At the same time, at the clergy’s residence. It was situated at the bottom of the hill where the St. Plors Church stood, withstanding the storm raging outside.

Father Art jolted from his dream. Panting, he snatched off his pointy nighthat drenched in sweat.

His glance darted towards his beaded bracelet, from which two beads had dislodged. They had fallen onto his linen bedding, translucent, each exhibiting abnormal behavior.

Sweat ran down his temples and he squinched, immediately inspecting them.

The first bead was flickering between red and orange, as if a fire had been condensed within. It was extremely hot, charring the fabric above which it lay.

Three breaths passed, during which smoke arose from it. Then it shattered, sending shards flying throughout the room. Father Art held up his arm to shield his face.

His expression remained stoic as a shard grazed his arm, drawing blood which dripped onto his white nightgown. He didn’t waste any breath to inspect the second bead, which was in a similar state.

Whereas the first bead flickered intensely, the second bead did less so. When another three breaths passed, it abruptly cooled down.

Father Art’s facial muscles finally relaxed. He stepped towards the window beneath which a wooden desk stood. A bell was mounted to the wall adjacent to the desk, while a rope hung from it.

He sat down and drew open the window’s curtains, staring sorrowfully into the dark night. A couple of seconds passed when he pulled the rope. The bell chimed loudly as if amplified by supernatural means.

When he noticed yawning and chattering of neighboring clergy resounding through the thin walls, he let go of the rope and interlocked his hands, praying to the Goddess Queen of Darkness.

…

Zarael coughed heavily, steadily regaining consciousness.

His sight was still blurred, but he sensed something off about the weight of his chain and hands. Just like his sight, his memories were cast in a mental fog.

He snorted slightly, thinking, What happened?

Directing his focus on the coordination of his hands, he slowly moved them along his chest, fumbling for the pendant which should’ve hung from it.

However, there was nothing. Neither hand, nor pendant.

This was a frightening discovery, directly alerting his mind. His heart skipped a beat as he jolted upwards, swiftly rubbing the water and grime from his eyes with the stub which remained.

While his vision regained sharpness, flashbacks of what had transpired flashed through his mind. Along with it came a severe headache, and his arms tingled strangely.

By the time his vision had cleared, he accepted his sacrifice. However, he was clueless as to if it had actually achieved anything. Despite the burnt odor, he remained hopeful, perhaps as to deceive himself from the truth.

He adjusted his body weight to rise to his feet, then tip-toed between the puddles and mice carcasses. The sun had already risen slightly, basking the scene in a bright light. However, while it provided a slight warmth, it didn’t overpower the winter’s chill.

He walked past the stranger’s corpse. It was hardly recognizable, as only remnants remained which had turned into ash and dust. While some had been carried away by the wind, most of it diluted the puddles in its vicinity black.

It’s all going to be alright, it’s all going to be alright, He repeated inwardly, then added in a slightly uncertain tone, Whatever happens, it’s always going to be alright — the Queen Goddess of Darkness is watching over me.

He turned around the first wagon, beholding a miserable sight as his pupils constricted.

A pile of charred corpses lay tightly squeezed against the front of the wagon. However, they had disintegrated to the point he was unable to tell how many there were.

His throat tightened, restricting his breathing which grew extremely heavy.

His stomach felt like sinking as he turned towards the front wagon from which a similar odor lingered. He stumbled towards it, ripping open the canvas which concealed the inside.

Similarly, there lay a pile of charred corpses. A gaping hole pierced the canvas which arched the wagon, while it had turned completely black. It was likely all inside had succumbed to smoke poisoning.

He stepped inside, catching sight of a slightly deformed brass hairpin. He recognized it immediately and bowed to scoop it up from the ash, but failed to remember his arms had turned to ash as well.

Due to the intense tightness in his throat and chest, he struggled to breathe, and it turned increasingly shallow.

Zarael slammed his head against the wooden bench lining the wagon, breaking immediately upon impact. He gasped for air while tears and drool ran down his face.

He sniffled heavily, trying to utter pleas of forgiveness, but his words remained stuck in his throat. A blend of guilt and regret gripped his heart, squeezing it firmly.

After some time, he could only form a wretched cry.