Mogadishu felt it—that indescribably powerful presence from the depths of the sea, the great Futan God!
In the face of this power, humanity seemed so insignificant. Intense fear compelled him to follow his most basic instinct: to ignorantly worship what he couldn't comprehend as a god. Only by doing so could he prevent his sanity from being crushed, from being driven mad.
At this moment, I could abandon everything, even my wife and children. In the face of this fear, they mean nothing. If it would make It stay just a little bit further away, I would willingly sacrifice my son on the spot.
Seeing Mogadishu trembling and despairingly kneeling before the tree of flesh and blood on the wall, the black-robed figures, who had been so menacing just moments before, kindly helped him to his feet. They draped a black robe over his shoulders. "Welcome to our ranks, compatriot."
