(But there are those who cannot stand seeing others happy.They are selfish. Arrogant.They believe only they have the right—that only they deserve more.One gold coin for theft.)
"Son, listen to me. Even if I die, I must remind you—never go to Belem. The Pope will tell you where you went wrong—"
The mother clutched the child's corpse and broke down crying. She was losing her mind—her scalp peeling, her skin cracking. Yet her crazed eyes softened when they fell upon the body, now rotten and foul-smelling, maggots swarming over it.
"I KILLED HIM—I KILLED MY OWN CHILD!!!!"
BAM—BAM—
She smashed her head against the wall again and again, blood soon drying into a thick, dark stain upon the cold stone.
There was nothing else she could do.It was a demon—a demon child!!!
"SHUT THE FUCK UP, YOU WHORE!A FUCKING WHORE DOESN'T GET TO SPEAK!"
CLANG.
A jailer kicked open the cell door and stormed in. He looked like he hadn't bathed in years. He wasn't even wearing trousers—clearly he had just raped someone. The other prisoners burst into laughter at the sight.
SMACK!
The jailer slapped the mother across the face. Her already ruined features swelled even further. After giving birth—and with a face like that—no one would touch her anymore.
"Hmph. You still kept this piece of trash? I told you to throw it away!"
He grabbed the baby's corpse and slammed it into the ground.
CRASH.
Blood.Bones.Organs.Brains.
Eyes.Nose.Tongue.Teeth.
All mixed together.
"Listen carefully."
The jailer yanked the mother by the hair and smashed her head into the wall again, blood splattering anew.
"I already made a deal with your dogshit family to let you die early. But you know why I kept you alive, don't you? You know."
He pulled out a document.
"One signature. You understand."
…
(They leave nothing untouched.They steal everything—gold from the living, gold from the dead.The balance of the world collapses,and some are never given the choice of a happy life or a peaceful death.)
Inside the darkened cathedral, a few dim oil lamps flickered.
On the first day of the Winter Hunting Festival, the five patriarchs of the Five Fingers died. All were killed in a massive explosion, later concealed.
The following morning, before the opening ceremony, the Pope delivered his sermon.
That was the beginning of the monstrous wave.
It began with a serpent-like creature flying across the sky, resembling a second sun.
On that day, the Pope was remembered as a hero—one who fought the wave alongside his close followers, yet failed—leaving behind a ruined city and a new era.
And on that same day, the one who—
"Marcus, that's enough rest. Time to move."
I shook Marcus, who was staring blankly at a bloodstained document. I peeled a boiled egg and ate it casually.
"You can eat in a place this filthy—reeking of rat shit?!"
Footsteps echoed, and a wavering beam of light approached. Marcus was about to speak, but I stopped him.
"Greetings, Princess. It is an honor—and thank you for coming and accompanying us."
A mocking laugh followed, and Janeus replied,
"Oh please. I was afraid you'd kill me if I didn't show up."
Marcus fell silent. His handsome face twisted, a strange wave of emotion rippling through his gaze as he looked at me.
"So, I'm off duty now, right?"
Lusk spoke—but had already turned into a compact skull. I picked it up and mounted it onto my staff, ignoring the others.
…
Deeper inside—beneath the cathedral, over a hundred levels down—inside a sealed chamber—
Kale lay curled up, bound by black threads woven into thick ropes and nailed directly into his body.
Click.
The door opened. Julien and Evelyn entered first—then the three of us followed.
"We did everything exactly as you instructed," Julien said. "Will you keep your promise?"
I nodded without hesitation.
I stepped closer to Kale, carefully inspecting the nails. They had been driven in with extreme precision.
Kale's Gift was "Black Wooden Puppet."It could interfere with perception and behavior across multiple minds simultaneously—but the more targets involved, the greater the chaos.
It was one of the few Gifts capable of linking our minds across layers of false reality, allowing movement between two fabricated worlds.
However, the process was imperfect. A failed transition could easily kill the mind if one wasn't fully conscious.
Julien's Gift was different. At first glance, it seemed useless—but it was our trump card.
"Mind-Anchoring Nail."
It stabilized bodily sensation, anchoring it to a fixed point in the past. It directly opposed Kale's Gift, though it was far weaker. After all, most mental attacks bypass bodily sensation and strike the subconscious.
In simple terms, the Mind-Anchoring Nail preserved a single moment of felt sensation, pinning it in place. It replaced all other sensations—but was ineffective against direct mental assault.
Yet when combined—
The two Gifts created a thread that lingered between mind and reality.
Wrap the nail inside the black thread. Disguise it as chocolate.
Because the nail was always in contact with the thread, we were no longer limited to moving between two false realities—we could cross between illusion and reality itself.
Like a rope holding together a bridge that could collapse at any moment.
Julien's Gift still had room to evolve—but not yet.
I whistled.
A wooden eagle flew toward us.
The final phase of a story that had lasted three hundred years had begun.