Absorption

There was no way of knowing what the "solution" the Status Window had spoken of actually was—but I didn't care. So long as it ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠freed me from this bind, limbs shackled as I was, and let me put even a single scratch on that son of a bitch's face, nothing else mattered. With that resolve, I gave my consent, and in an instant the Status Window began to shift and change before my eyes.

Absorption? Absorb what? Even if it devoured the unknown thing crawling around inside my body, that bastard could always just stuff it back in. I had just dismissed the whole thing as a pointless gesture when another violent convulsion tore through me. It was nothing like the pain that had been gouging out my entire body—this time, the agony was focused on my heart alone.

My heart can't endure it? By this point, I couldn't even begin to fathom what was being done to it, and my breath caught short in an instant. A searing pang pulsed from my heart, like a small knife shaving raw flesh into paper-thin slices, and as though keeping time with that agony, my skin writhed all the harder.

Only after the pounding of my heart—which had seemed one beat away from stopping—finally quieted did the pain begin to ebb. Writhing in agony, I dragged in ragged breaths, and at last managed to look up at the Status Window once more. The final lines scrolling across it were more than enough to leave me stunned.

'...Could there still be impurity remaining, I wonder?' Watching Jenison's body still twitching and writhing, that was the thought that crossed Greed's mind. This was to become the flesh of the goddess he served; naturally, not even a speck of defilement the size of a hair's tip could be forgiven. And so, having gone to the trouble of meeting the man, he had set out to purge every impurity from his body—to peel away the stubborn will to live caked thick over every inch of him, to erase even the emotions that would serve no purpose in a god's life. He had meant to fashion a vessel fit for That Person's spirit to descend into.

And yet something was wrong. By now, the things he had planted inside that body should have scoured it clean. The man should be wearing the vacant eyes of an idiot—not that defiant glare. These worms, informally known as "Spencer," parasitized a human body and gnawed away at everything within it, even the formless. And as the lowliest minions of "Gluttony," the speed at which they devoured was nothing short of astonishing. So why was there anything left to eat? Why were they still wriggling their way through his flesh?

The wrongness did not stop there. At some point, the tentacles he had embedded in the man's body had begun to feel as though they were vanishing. The tips he had crammed in without the slightest gap now met with slack, empty space. Something had gone wrong—it was an unmistakable intuition. He had no wish to mishandle That Person's flesh, but this once, it seemed he had no choice. Given the option, he would have preferred to reduce the man to an idiot and let him walk there on his own two feet; instead, he revised the plan—render him unconscious and carry him. Cut off the oxygen to a human brain, and unconsciousness was guaranteed. Sealing the breathing of a man whose four limbs were bound was a task even a newborn could manage.

With that thought, Greed brought a tentacle toward Jenison's face—anticipating the goddess's re-descent, now close at hand. And it was then that an attack came from behind him: an attack of Holy Power, so strong, so familiar.

"Hahk... huff... What do you think you're doing..."

It was the Pope, who had fainted from the agony, somehow back on his feet—knees still shuddering beneath him. The strike had been genuinely threatening, but Greed was no fool. He knew the price of drawing out Holy Power beyond all reason. The Pope's body was likely ruined beyond repair; that single blow had probably been his last chance.

No sacrifice could be more enticing than a Pope who could not wield his own strength—or so Greed seemed to say, still the very picture of ease.

"Awake already? You might have rested a little longer."

"...Release that child!!"

"Still such a nuisance, I see."

Exasperated by the old man's relentless charge, Greed cast him a weary glance and flicked out a pair of tentacles. Just as expected, the Pope managed no worthwhile counter—too busy simply fending them off.

"Why go to such lengths? You could have lived, had you only stayed down."

"...You'll never understand. Not in your whole life, monster draped in human skin."

"...Everything I do is for the sake of humanity. To think you cannot grasp my purpose... how pitiable you are, truly..."

At the genuine sympathy in Greed's voice, the Pope's face twisted for the briefest instant—but the charge continued without a flicker of emotion, and for a short while, Greed took his attention off Jenison. The man's limbs were bound, after all. To break those bonds, one would ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠need mana surpassing Greed's own at the very least—or the ability to wield the same energy he did. In other words, one would have to receive the "Goddess's Blessing."

‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠

And that was impossible for him. The instant a mage's body wielded any power other than mana, the Circles would overload and the mage would die. It was the same reason priests could not cast spells—Holy Power and mana could never be wielded side by side. Besides, Greed had investigated the man, if only a little; he was the one who kept company with the Saintess, after all. According to what he had found, the man's skill was unimpressive—but he was, without question, a mage. A mage with mana undeniably present in his body. That alone was reassurance enough for Greed.

The very moment he thought so, a shriek of cleaved air and the snap of something tearing loose sounded from behind him. A blade came flying straight for his neck. He did not know how the man had managed it, but Jenison had broken his bonds.

Even so, the answer was obvious. What came flying would be a dagger. Resolved this time to knock the man out from the very start, Greed flung tentacles at the Pope and reached his hand toward the incoming object—only, what met his fingers was no blade. Mocking the hand he had extended in perfect certainty of steel, the thing that slipped clean past was a needle, far too small. And at its end, a tiny slip of paper.

The needle's tip pierced Greed's carotid artery with unerring precision. An ordinary human would have died on the spot, bled dry. An ordinary human, that is. As though the needle lodged in his neck were a joke, Greed pressed it deeper with a finger, until the little thing had vanished from sight entirely. All that remained was the small paper dangling from it.

"I cannot imagine how you broke free, but it seems your attack has failed once again?"

"...Falling for the same trick twice—you're the first fool in all my life to manage that, you imbecile."

"...?"

The moment his words ended, another flash burst forth. Light glittered to life inside Greed's throat—and then a monstrous heat and radiance erupted.

The scroll, half-swallowed into his throat, answered a single motion of Jenison's hand. It detonated. Light poured from Greed's body—light and heat fierce enough to cook an ordinary person for the mere act of drawing near. And yet Greed stood there unscathed. The same as before. As if sneering at Jenison, who had worn the same blank expression throughout, the burning, soot-black skeleton clacked its teeth together, and with every clack came a voice like a blade rasping over vocal cords.

"I was about to say the same. A fool like you, falling for the same trick twice—why, you are a first for me as well. Haha—ha..."

His skin-crawling laughter cut off within moments. And as though he had been waiting for exactly that, Jenison smiled.

"What's the matter? Keep laughing."

"You... what have you done..."

"I have no idea what you mean."

"Your heart!! Why is my power dwelling there?!"

He was right. Around Jenison's heart, Greed's black aura was circulating—circulating with perfect stability. It should not have been possible. The Circles should have burst and killed him then and there; that was the only sane outcome. Impossible, unless the laws of physics themselves were transcended. Impossible, unless a god's miracle had taken place. And yet there it was, undeniable. What should not exist, existing.

Sensing that something had gone horribly wrong, Greed hastily flung out his tentacles—not a pair, but dozens. A flood of them surged toward Jenison, each tip cold as a spearhead, their speed keen as the wind. And yet not one of them touched him. They had stopped dead, right before his eyes.

"...So this is how it's used?"

"Wh... what..."

The tentacles had not merely stopped. Their ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠tips were moving in exact accordance with the movement of Jenison's hand. Black tentacles, and a black-haired man—the sight was so seamless it raised gooseflesh from head to toe.

"Th...this cannot be!! How... how does the likes of you wield That Person's power!!"

"Don't call it That Person's power. It makes me want to retch."

"Y...you blasphemous wretch—"

"Shut up and die."

The dozens of tentacles he had hurled surged once more—aimed this time not at Jenison, but at Greed himself. He tried desperately to block them, but the tentacles no longer answered his control, and his mind seized by the miracle before his eyes, the skeleton—possessing neither skin nor muscle—could not evade them. Cervical vertebrae, thoracic vertebrae, ribs, sternum, femurs: dozens of tentacles hammered into bone. The dry crackle of splintering skeleton filled the cathedral from wall to wall.

"Kgh... hahk..."

"...So that's the power of that bitch. Even the look of it turns my stomach."

Greed's face contorted at the continued blasphemy—but the smile soon returned.

"Kuk kuk... no matter what you do... you cannot kill me."

"...?"

"I was merely too flustered to respond properly a moment ago. But this paltry body of mine—I need only put it back together—"

"Do as you like."

Even as the words left his mouth, Jenison drew something out and hurled it at Greed's arm. What he threw was none other than a medicine bottle—a vial filled with liquid of a color strikingly similar to a potion. But the instant that liquid touched Greed's bones, all doubt vanished. It was no potion. The liquid melted his bones away without a trace.

"Gah... hrk..."

"Sulfuric acid. Highly concentrated, at that."

"Uuuurgh... khh..."

"Your ability—it was never regeneration, was it. Nor creation."

"..."

"You simply covet. All you do is reach to reclaim what was once yours."

"..."

"That heart of yours—robbing others of everything while refusing to be robbed of a single thing. Go on, then. Cling to it to the very end."

"...Uuuurgh."

"Because today, come what may, I am taking everything that is yours."

In that moment, what Greed beheld could only have been the landscape of an Avici hell that never ends.