The crimson-hooded girl skipped to Iris, crushing the brittle bones and squashing the elastic flesh patches in her path. Blood-like mists rose from cracks on the lifeless ground, whose carcass-like texture shrivelled away from the lonesome girl.

Despite the hood concealing her features, her childishly bright smile remained prominent on her half-sealed face. Endless joy beamed out of her obscured countenance. Her hands, holding a wicker basket covered in a piece of dull grey textile, swayed as if shaking it.

Iris resisted the urge to step back. The fog in her surroundings receded away from her and the most mysterious girl. Hints of decayed husks and wrecked monuments flickered into existence before crumbling as irreparable rubbles.

Countless resonating voices whispered. Their hoarse tones, a combination of fatigue and pain, spoke of their ultimate fates. They cursed at the world, berated themselves, and fell lifelessly as darkness once more claimed them.

The girl stood in front of Iris. She reached out her right hand. A gush of cold wind ripped her cloak. Her flowing hair danced beneath her hood, revealing a hint of her ominous eyes.

Iris flashed a lovely smile while bending down. With her face at a comparable height to the girl’s, she patted the girl’s head and giggled. Her eyes had no interest in peering through the hood. They only focused on the grey textile covering the wicker basket.

“Are you lost?” Iris said. “May I be your friend?”

“I’m hungry.” The girl touched her stomach. It growled. “Sister Iris, would you help me?”

“Only if you tell me your name.”

“Devoria. I’m a piece of her essence, a fragment of her desire.” Devoria retreated from Iris. “We meet at last, Iris.”

“What is your favourite food?”

“A spark of the Divine Flame, but an Outsider’s soul would suffice.”

“My soul has unfortunately been taken.”

“Is there a reason I cannot seize it?”

Devoria glared at the mist beside her. It fled her gaze, leaving behind an exquisite long table decorated with candle holders, empty plates, cleaned glasses, cutlery wrapped in paper towels, and rows of mahogany chairs.

“Has Lilith managed to stop you?” Iris walked to the table. “My cuisine skill is merely passable. It might not be to your taste.”

“Lilith’s flesh is too bitter, her Divinity too invasive.” Devoria’s voice faltered. “But you, Iris, possess palatable Faith.”

“Is Nupian not your successor?”

“She’s a lovely girl tainted by loss, but she has yet to take that final step.”

“Am I, too, a tool for your scheme?” Iris swiped her index finger on the dustless table. Its firm, smooth surface glistened under her fingertip. “Pitiful, isn’t she?”

Devoria went to sit at the head of the table. The candles on the holders blazed aflame in bloody sparks, whose rotten stench dominated even the dry, musty air. This pungent smell enticed the living mist, but its hunger paled before its fear.

“She is lucky to have such a wonderful wife, but not enough to keep her.” Devoria licked her lips. “Is encountering me her misfortune?”

Iris went to sit in her designated seat opposite Devoria. She held a knife and moved it to her chest. The blade gently pierced her dress, cutting a small wound on her delicate body.

Slimy liquid seeped out. Her soaked dress stuck to her skin, turning translucent, and exposed her fairness to the blind world. Her blood stirred the swirling mist, which morphed into countless maws. They circled the table, their eyeless gazes focusing on Iris, on her tender flesh, on her alluring scent.

While smiling, Iris pushed her knife deeper. Her slimy content poured out of her, absorbed by her thin dress, and dirtied the ornated tablecloth, but none touched the plate.

Once the wound was sufficiently agape, she plunged a fork into her body. Its tip met a fleshy, gooey object. She winced, trembling as if electrocuted by a lightning storm. Her human appearance lost its shape, revealing her purplish slime membrane.

The fork stabbed a glowing heart embedded in her chest. Its pulsating structure sent waves of black tendrils throughout her body. They rose to her membrane, merged with it, and interlaced as a network of nerves.

She yanked out the fork. The vessels protecting her heart broke, cutting off the network of black tendrils. She lost control of her balance and slanted to the side, but she caught the chair’s armrest before she could tumble.

She carefully placed the heart on her plate. Her fatigued fingers lost strength. The knife and fork clattered on the table as she fell on the backrest.

The mist, smelling the irresistible scent, screamed while lunging at Iris.

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Devoria hmphed. The desolate world awoke from its slumber. Eyes and veins and hands and teeth grew from the dead ground. Spikey limbs and oozing tentacles sprouted through the cracks of the earth.

The world screeched in terror. Fractures on the ground sucked away the disobedient mist before closing their countless mouths.

The mists lost their frenzy, descending into a stunned, awestruck silence.

Iris held her breath. Her body refused to move. She stayed locked in space, in time. Only her blurry eyes, staring at the end of the long table, could make out the vague silhouette, whose hidden features ever so slightly revealed themselves under the loosening hood.

“Such decisiveness,” Devoria said. “Is that your answer?”

Iris tightened her grip on the armrests and popped herself up. She picked up the knife and fork and watched, with her eyes drooping, as Devoria carefully tidied herself.

“Meeting me is your misfortune,” Iris said.

Devoria paused before laughing hysterically. “You’re indeed a misfortune for many of us, but not for me.”

“And who is?”

“No one hurts me more than myself. No one loves me more than myself. No one hates me more than myself.” Devoria sighed. “No need to give me all your heart. I merely wish for a small bite.”

“Did you have a hand in my suffering?”

“Does that matter? The only one you can rely on is yourself.”

Devoria licked the knife. Her tongue melted the silver, which dissolved into her mouth. She bit the fork and chewed on its gold-tipped edge. Her lips bled from the sharp fragments, but she swallowed everything with delight.

The ceramic plates too became a part of her feast. She struck the plates, shattering them into bite-sized desserts.

Muffled screams played from the unseen records surrounding the banquet table, whose length shrunk as if hiding itself from the ravenous girl. Devoria spiritedly ate everything in front of her, including the melting candles and their metallic holders, the silky fabric and the hardwood.

Iris slammed the table. Her hand splattered before reforming, but the firm wood stayed undamaged. She arduously picked up the fallen fork and raised it above her pulsing heart.

Her grip gradually loosened.

“Devoria, where is your etiquette?” Iris said. “Is my heart not good enough? Am I not worthy?”

Devoria paused. She shyly tilted her head while wiping her tattered face with a piece of torn tablecloth. Its pale white colour became soaked in a scarlet shade that enticed her to gnaw on it, but she resisted the urge; Iris’s gaze upon her petite body made her feel ashamed.

“I’m sorry, Iris. I was preparing for the main course.” Devoria clapped her hands. “I enjoy my heart a little watery, a little warm.”

The table rose and fell in a breathing motion. The ornates and cutlery waved with its motion, though nothing lost their balance and tumbled down the floor. The plate protecting Iris’s heart flew to Devoria and landed neatly in front of her. Another bowl, filled with bubbling bright-pink fluid with blue rose petals floating on the surface, assumed its place before Iris.

A heart-shaped gemstone emerged from the soup. Its energetic gleam reflected Iris’s silhouette, her unsmiling face, and her unhinged eyes. She turned to Devoria.

“Allow me to mix in my cards,” Devoria said.

“Why should I?”

“Because your despair, whether in Lilith’s or Fate’s hands, doesn’t benefit me.”

Iris coughed. Her slime splattered out of her. She tightened her grip on the knife and swung it into the gemstone. The blade effortlessly slipped inside. The gem convoluted and wiggled as multiple eyes manifested on its shiny surface.

These eyes bled out, their black blood joining the soup.

Despite her palpitating soul and her apprehensive intuition, Iris still ate the gem, forcefully chewing on it. It shattered into squirming fragments. These worms and parasites dissolved in her slime, their black outlines swimming in her transparent body.

Her purple tendrils rapaciously shredded the intruders, absorbing all foreign energy. She grasped and grasped as the sensation of water filling her lungs choked her.

She gagged, her instinct forcing out the parasites, but she endured the disgust. Her liquifying eyes stared at Devoria.

“Your perseverance is of utmost delicacy,” Devoria said.

Iris didn’t answer.

“Allow me to have a bite, then.”

She picked up the beating heart and examined the fluid dripping from its gaping valves. Her fingernails pierced the outermost membrane but took care not to make a noticeable cut.

After admiring it, she held it close and sniffed its aroma. Her brows furrowed.

“A hint of Lilith’s scent, it reminds me of our unpleasant past.” Devoria licked the heart. “You could’ve fed me Shadow Heart Core, and I would’ve eaten Lilith’s Divinity.”

Iris soundlessly laughed. Her hoarse, unintelligible voice echoed in her head.

“Such a petty trick is indeed unbefitting of you.”

Devoria opened her mouth, exposing her sharp teeth and slithering tongue. It wrapped around the heart and dragged it into the maw.

The gloomy sky brightened as a streak of golden light flashed groundward. An ethereal spectre of a monumental spear struck Devoria. Lightings composed of holy light parted the sea of living mist enclosing the unholy feast, but the spear itself failed to land.

Devoria lifted her head. The spear’s tip was suspended above her head. Her hood came off, and her hair outflowed around her beauty.

Iris’s eyes widened. She screamed until her voice returned. Her slime burst into countless arms, yet invisible gazes suppressed her into an unmoving statue. Her slime-made weapons crumbled and waned, and her slightest movement became sealed.

“Duality,” Devoria said. “Our reunion is as lively as I expected.”

Duality’s wings squirmed. She gripped the spear in her chest, enduring the divine lightning sapping her flesh. The gigantic incorporeal spear gained more hints of its material existence, though its increased momentum changed nothing.

Her broken horns trembled, cracks creeping on their sturdy form. The paleness on her face, a mixture of terror and fury, spread to her neck, her chest, and her shoulders. Black and white light gushed out of the rifts in her physical vessel, but she cared not a moment of her disintegration.

A storm rocked the flat land, threw apart the dining table, and split the chairs and trays and tea sets. Iris held onto the armrests of her frozen chair while fragments of rocks flew past her, scratching her membrane but unable to hurt her.

Despite closing her eyes, the unforgettable picturesque—a demonic angel coming down from heaven, wielding an all-purifying spear, striking the source of evil herself—burned into her soul.

Blood, the essence of her spirit, bled out from beneath her eyelids. She bit her lips as if sewing shut her mouth, but the bubbles of shrieks still leaked out.

Thunderous booms covered her agony; she couldn’t hear or feel herself. Only Devoria and Duality existed in this world.

When the dust cleared, when Iris opened her eyes, she sluggishly supported herself to her feet. The crimson mist no longer obscured the horizon. The clear world had a chance to witness this moment.

Devoria, with her hood no longer concealing her myriad eyes, choked Duality by the neck. Her shadow, which emerged from her feet as a swarm surrounding her, reached its countless dark hands towards the struggling Goddess.