“Not so beautiful, eh?”

The deity, his voice trembling with internal conflict, lamented his action. Just a moment ago, he had promised not to defile the Goddess, but in the end, he found himself betraying his own words.

Barely anything was left of his former self, both literally and figuratively. His left leg was almost wholly destroyed by the front kick he landed on Trickery, and his hand shattered by piercing through the Mysteries. Gone was his majesty and godship. Now, it lay in ruins, fragmented stone scattered at his feet. He, after all, was just a statue.

Fatma fell to the ground as the water beneath her splattered. Her hand tightly clasped the mud as her fingers clawed into the soft ground. She grasped at the unfairness of life. Just why? Why did she have to stumble upon this lunatic?

“What is the problem with you!?”

She forgot that she was speaking to a literal deity for a moment. Yet the deity himself didn’t mind.

“Not me. What is the problem with you yourself, huh?”

At the figure’s words, Fatma was staggered. But then he pressed further.

“Why are you so eager to bind yourself to a deity?”

His tone was cold, detached. The figure slowly approached Fatma. He grabbed at her hair as a slow squeak escaped Fatma’s mouth.

“Do you know the definition of the definition?”

He said as he tightened the grip around Fatma’s hair, forcing her to watch his face. The expression the deity was giving her was one of deep contempt. It was as though if he didn’t like her answer, her life would be taken away, her soul demolished.

Only now did Fatma regain her senses. Standing in front of him was not a broken statue of a broken man but a nameless god, one of the mightiest of existences in this world.

“I… do not know…”

The definition of the definition? What the hell? Fatma couldn’t help but curse at the question. She was utterly confused.

The grip on her head was so hard that a little bit of a push would tear it apart, not just the hair but also her scalp with it. His gaze was so piercing that any more of it would make her crumble just like the statues surrounding them.

“You now know nothing. It took you centuries to figure it out, and you just died. It was too late.”

He grabbed her chin and violently turned her sight to the fallen Goddess.

“Do you see yourself in her? Can you understand the path you were about to embark on? Blind bitch, can you see that bitch lying over there? Not what is outside, but what’s inside. She might look sexy, but inside, she’s a cunt. Do you have what it takes to pierce through the mysteries of the world?”

The figure then turned her head to the Trickery’s leftovers.

“See her? The very moment you choose that path, you seal your fate in the hands of that wench. Choosing the path of trickery, you should be good at trickery. But the very moment you choose Trickery, you become tricked.”

He slowly but forcefully pulled her head toward Obstruction.

“See that guy? Do you know how hard a person's perseverance is? Do you know the difference between hard work and perseverance? Of course not; you’re oblivious. You’re someone who’d be touched by the death of a single pest. This is your limit, your obstruction toward the path.”

The figure then switched to Madness.

“I mean… never mind. I believe you have at least some sort of common sense to abstain from that…”

The godlike statue of a man then softened his hold on her face and caressed her reddened cheeks. Fatma was on the brink of passing out from the pressure. She breathed heavily as soon as the grip was eased.

“Now look at me. Yes, I am a god. Yes, I’m cool. Yes, I’m handsome. But can you put your trust in me? Of course not! Outward appearances tell nothing. As you can see, I’m a freak. And are those freaks over there any different from me? No! They’re all insane! Except for Sona. Which in and of itself is insane!”

The tattered figure of a not-so-handsome god proclaimed. Fatma heard a lot, yet her confusion only deepened. What was this god talking on and on?

Demon Lords? What in the world was that? Her being a saintess? How in the world is that? What a joke.

“But what am I supposed to do then…? If there’s no path to choose from, that is.”

Fatma inquired, her mouth bleeding. She first thought that the deity had destroyed all the other figures so that she would choose him. Apparently, she was wrong. Truly, how can a mortal know the intentions of a deity?

“Hahaha, getting straight to the point, aren’t we? I like that. I wouldn’t satisfy your curiosity anyway. Figure out the answers by yourself as you roam the world and delve into the depths of the abyss. There’s no pathway to choose from, lady saintess. Create your own! Define yourself!”

If you stumble upon this tale on Amazon, it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.

The god said with a tinge of insanity laced in his voice. He then slowly strolled toward the fallen orb and picked it up. While he was at it, Fatma slowly started digesting the heaviness of his words.

“Define myself? Create my own path? What does that mean?”

Fatma was bewildered. From the very beginning of her confrontation with this deity, her questions only rose.

“Wait, you don’t mean to…”

“Bingo!”

The deity exclaimed as he threw the orb at her hands. He then slowly reached out for the sword.

“You would usually choose an ability after completing the trial of the pathway of your choice… But what happens if you get abandoned by the deities? What if you do not get any statues? Tell me.”

“Then I would either have to give up on the path of a seeker or… go for a unique ability.”

The statue froze in his place. His frows furrowed.

“You fool. It’s exactly the opposite. By striving for a unique ability, you become a true seeker, unbound by the authority of the deities. The moment you choose one of the pathways the world has predetermined for you, you give up on the path of a seeker and become a puppet.”

He then approached Fatma and stood a breath away from her.

“But the chances of survival are close to zero…”

Fatma noted. She was both doubtful of the deity’s intentions and nervous about her future.

“Zero? I wouldn’t say so. At least for you, it’s somewhere around eighty. Though…”

The deity pointed at the orb that now lay in Fatma’s hands.

“I’ll lower that to ten. I’m a gambling addict, you see. That’s exactly what got me in this situation.”

He gave a light and not-so-comforting smile. Fatma’s brows twitched at those words. Ten percent was quite low…

“But, that’s from my perspective. There’s nothing definite in this life. You determine your own life and death. For you, the chances may either be a hundred or one. It will all depend on your will and not mere luck.”

Fatma nodded as she slowly raised her head to look at the eyes of the deity.

“So, what is this thing exactly?”

“Oh, that one is the seed of evil. It entraps many souls and is filled with a lot of bad karma.”

At his words, Fatma couldn’t help but stagger backward. She involuntarily dropped the blackish orb in her hands. Before she could ask, the deity supplemented his explanation.

“You have lots of good karma. You’re not a saintess for nothing. I believe you can withstand this much. Only then will my investment in you become worthwhile. So will you?”

Fatma fell into deep contemplation as she then slowly nodded her head. Her eyes darkened.

“I know that you never lie, saintess. Well, my mission is over now.”

He said as he handed the sword toward Fatma.

“Kill me.”

The figure prompted nonchalantly, giving a light smile. It was as if he was not asking for death but a mundane task. His figure was already crumbling, as soon nothing would be left of him anyway.

“By killing me, you will regain an enormous amount of good karma. Although I’m just a fragment of my main body, I can be considered the most evil being in this universe.”

The figure said as if proud of his accomplishments.

“Do you not fear death?”

Fatma asked. The figure pondered for a while. Then, melancholically, he darted his gaze away toward the sky. There, he saw the sun. Fatma herself didn’t know why she asked that specifically. She was curious. How could anyone not fear death?

“That thing in the sky… you see that? It’s called sun. It’s very beautiful. Don’t you think so?”

The deity pointed toward the glowing orb in the sky. Fatma couldn’t look at the sun as her eyes scorched. Just what kind of beauty could be found in that thing?

“My whole life is gazing and pursuing the sun with the realization that it will eventually burn. People have pure desires, often upset at their lives in one way or another, yet passive and decadent, not willing to rise up and make a change in the world, and this is reductive. I pursue the sun, until the sun burns out and vanishes.”

The deity spoke abstractly. Fatma didn’t understand much of it. Yet her curiosity was piqued.

“I have two different sides to me. Whereas one views life as the reinforcement of the idea that this world is hell, a worthless cesspool of death with no meaning, just there to be destroyed, desiring to exact vengeance upon the system to leave not a trace of the old world order behind, the other me claims that it is so easy to just give up and submit to hatred, believing that the key is to fight through troubles and protect what you value so that the light can shine again, not destroy.”

Fatma blankly stared at the deity’s receding figure. He was no longer a deity, but a human.

“Is it really worth it to suffer in the hopes of a better day, even when it all seems lost? I’ve always wondered… is the duality of our condition a tragedy worth persevering through, or is it just better to give up.”

The figure of a broken man paused for a moment. Cracks started forming on his head.

“In the end, I failed. I failed to define myself. You ask whether I fear death…”

The man smiled.

“What I fear is not death but an end.”

The man clasped Fatma’s steady hands as he pointed the sword toward his neck.

“Please, saintess, end my suffering.”

Fatma chuckled as tears traced down her cheeks. She was sure that she would someday get to fully understand the man’s words. Yana Fatma mustered all her power to lift the heavy sword and cut through the deity’s neck, finishing it in one stroke.

Normally, she wouldn’t be able to pierce through the statue with her strength. But the statue was already broken, on the verge of collapsing. The sword, on the other hand, was as sharp as Fatma’s resolve.

“See you, Damian.”

She was filled with grief and unexplainable fury. She fell to the ground as she seized the portion of statue’s remains in her hands. Yet the crumbs fell between her fingers.

It took her a while to come back to her senses. She clenched the orb and slowly rose from the ground. From this moment onward, she was unsure about her future, yet assured of a single thing. She was assured that she would never fall again.

Fatma picked up the orb as she slowly approached the largest tree in the midst of the stone formation. She put the seed of evil onto her soul. Her soul slowly started digesting the seed. The beautiful and lively tree started to wither. The ground shook in frenzy.

Fatma closed her eyes as she pushed her hand toward her soul. Soon, her world turned upside down as she slowly started losing herself.