Those Waiting for Help, Part 4
Crackle.
A sound like static electricity magnified dozens of times erupted between the child's right side and Isis's hand. Isis frowned and pulled her hand back. The healing light did not penetrate the child's body; instead, it scattered, dispersing into the surrounding air. The man's face turned pale as a sheet, while I quietly watched Isis.
"I didn't expect it to be easy, but..." Isis muttered, clenching and unclenching her hand as if it were numb. "That mutated flesh is rejecting the penetration of mana. It is indeed of a nature entirely opposite to my divine power."
Isis let out a soft sigh. On the child's body, the remnants of her divine power writhed and lingered like tiny bolts of lightning. Isis's blue eyes fiercely tracked those traces.
"Do you think you can purge it?"
"If only my mana can pierce through that hide." Saying this, Isis rolled up her sleeves once more and placed her hand on the child's right shoulder. Though there was no sign of life in the child's body, the tentacles and veins sprouting over the flesh occasionally writhed as if breathing, a deeply unsettling sight.
"If I can just succeed in making it penetrate, I can do it, because my mana and the nature of that flesh are polar opposites. I will make sure of it."
Isis widened her eyes, determined to succeed. Once again, mana surged and writhed from the core of her heart. The current flowed down her arm and into her hand. This time, Isis manifested a much more densely concentrated mass of mana.
Screeech!
The black skin and Isis's divine power clashed once more. Isis did not withdraw her mana, holding her ground. The sound of the dispersing mana grinding against the foreign entity was as agonizing as fingernails scraping against a wet windowpane. A bead of sweat rolled down Isis's forehead.
"I can do this," she whispered to herself like a mantra.
Wax dripped from the candle the man had lit. Sensing the ominous silence outside, I slowly closed my eyes.
"The air is stirring."
I felt it too. Though it was hidden from view by the window. Something was about to happen where the Bishop, Marianne, and Aryen were.
Bones shattered.
The woman's eyes rolled back, and she collapsed backward, half-unconscious. Her leg lost its shape from a single hammer blow. Unable to even voice her agony, she let out ragged, choking gasps as 'the Teacher' supported her back. Tears streamed down her face.
"Well done. That was truly a courageous act."
The Teacher placed his hand on the woman's leg. She was writhing in agony. A pitch-black, ominous mana rose from his hand. Like a current from the abyss, it began to wrap around her leg. The woman's panting breath gradually subsided.
"Here, we can learn a lesson," the Teacher said, pulling his hand away and standing up. "Pain is but temporary."
His voice drifted to the people behind him like a sweet temptation. He looked down at the woman and offered his hand. Grasping it, she opened her hazy eyes, looking ecstatic. Her tears of pain transformed, along with her expression, into tears of distorted rapture. The Teacher squeezed her hand.
"But the reward is eternal."
The Teacher helped the woman up and walked toward the people lined up behind her.
"Now, brother, what was the ailment you were cured of?"
"I... my arm was broken," the young man replied, instinctively clutching his right arm.
A smile played on the Teacher's lips.
"Must I help you this time as well?"
"No."
Without a moment's hesitation, the man slammed his arm onto the brewery floor, took the hammer, and struck his right arm again. Once, twice. When the arm refused to break and the man merely groaned in pain, the Teacher snatched the hammer from him and swung it.
Thud.
And then, the Teacher leaned down to relieve the man's suffering.
Marianne turned to Bishop Andre, her eyes pleading for an order to intervene, but Bishop Andre only shook his head slowly.
Next. And the next.
The people threw themselves to the ground, undoing their healed wounds, growing increasingly unhesitating in mutilating their own bodies. They slashed their arms with razors, crushed their ankles, and gouged holes in their flesh. A man who claimed his eyes had been healed stabbed his own eye with an awl. A thick fluid, a mixture of blood and vitreous humor, poured down.
"Excellent. Highly desirable," the Teacher said, removing his hand from the face of the man who had gouged his eye. His gaze locked onto the next person.
It was a young woman of mysterious beauty. Her face had been stiffening as she watched the people before her. Observing her reaction, the Teacher tilted his head.
"You haven't been here long, have you?"
Trembling, the woman nodded.
"What was the sister cured of?"
"...My flank... was pierced by debris..."
"Is that so?" the Teacher nodded impassively, then walked toward a corner of the brewery.
From the floor cluttered with barrels and pipes, the Teacher picked up a steel pipe. Its end was sheared diagonally, sharp as a bamboo spear. As the Teacher proffered the pipe, the woman stared at it, hesitating for a long moment.
"If you do not wish to, you may refuse. However, I cannot say whether I, or our brothers, will be able to show you mercy then."
The Teacher's voice sank chillingly. Her arms shaking violently, the woman reluctantly took the pipe. Her hands trembled as she held it. If her flank were pierced by that again, relief or not, she would surely die. Marianne was visibly shaken.
"Now, sister. Choose. If you need my help, say so."
The woman's eyes shook frantically. The Bishop's gaze bound her, preventing her from looking away. The woman raised the pipe high, as if about to plunge it into herself.
Just as Marianne's presence wavered, threatening to expose them, several figures stepped in front of Marianne, the Bishop, and Aryen. They possessed presences similar to the Teacher's.
"Our order keeps a close eye on the movements of you inquisitors. We have penetrated much deeper into this world than you think," the Teacher said in a mocking tone.
Bishop Andre stared at the wavy daggers of the Evil God worshippers thrust before their eyes.
"Now, brothers and sisters. Look at this. Those hypocrites from the Holy Church have come here with daggers hidden in their cloaks to harm us. They will drag us away and bind us to chairs in the church dungeons."
The Teacher began to spout his poison again.
"They claim to be servants of a merciful God, yet they possess no mercy. They will sear your chests with red-hot irons, pierce your thighs with awls, and force you onto burning wooden horses, torturing you to ask if you are possessed by demons or colluding with devils. And if you cannot endure the torture and confess, they will hang you by the neck or burn you alive."
The crowd began to murmur. Forgetting entirely how the Teacher had just brutally abused, broken, and torn their bodies, they began to glare at the trio with hostility.
"There must be others still hiding in this village."
"Catch them."
"We'll drag them here."
The murmuring swelled. The doors burst open, and people began to rush outside. Madness gleamed in the villagers' eyes. Bellowing in rage, they practically broke down the brewery doors as they surged out.
The Teacher spread his arms wide and looked at the woman holding the pipe.
"Now, let us show them! Our united front that will never easily yield! Our resolve to never submit to the lies and deception that ignore our pain!"
The woman's eyes grew hazy. The gazes of the worshippers pushed her toward death. The Teacher smiled.
"Now. Do you know what you must do, sister?"
Plunge that iron spear into your flank.
At that moment, a figure vanished into the darkness.
Slash.
"Huh?"
There was only a single sound of a swing. Yet, the sword strikes cutting through the air numbered well over a dozen.
Blood. In the darkness, the blood looked like black water. It spurted toward the ceiling and rained down, creating a sea of crimson. The arms of the Evil God worshippers standing tall were severed, flying into the air.
Thud, thud, thud.
The Teacher looked down at his severed left arm, then slowly raised his head to look around. The commotion he had stirred up vanished in an instant, as if gagged.
"...Huh?"
Exuding a chilling bloodlust that overwhelmed even his own darkness, a man strode out from the shadows and the crowd. The man held a drawn sword. Blood dripped from the blade that had severed the arms of every single Evil God worshipper in the blink of an eye.
"This is a far more irritating sight than I expected."
The mercenary, Aryen, walked into the center. Glaring with distaste at the woman trembling with the pipe, he snatched it from her hands and tossed it into a corner of the brewery. The empty pipe clattered to the floor.
"Go sit in the corner," Aryen grunted, shoving her back. She stared at him in a daze before retreating. Marianne stepped forward and wrapped an arm around her shoulders.
"Anyway, thanks for clearing out the distractions on your own." Aryen's voice dominated the room. "You Evil God worshipping bastards are stupider than I thought."
The Teacher's face contorted as he leaped backward. The blood pouring from his severed left arm turned into tentacles, shooting toward Aryen. Before Aryen could even raise his sword with a scowl, daggers wrapped in shrouds of light flew in, impaling the tentacles.
"Your skills are certainly useful. It would have been a bit troublesome if you hadn't moved so quickly." Bishop Andre cracked his knuckles as he stepped up beside the mercenary. "Marianne, take the lady and get out. Once she is safe, go support the others. We will clean up here."
Marianne nodded and led the woman outside.
The wide-open brewery doors slammed shut with a rattle, and the light radiating from Bishop Andre's holy relic illuminated the darkness. The Bishop's face twisted in disgust as he beheld the Teacher, whose hood had fallen back.
"You lot are truly out of your minds."
The upper half of the Teacher's face was covered in tentacles and mutated flesh, much like the boy who had been implanted with a fragment of a Calamity. On the left arm Aryen had severed, tentacles resembling those of an octopus writhed.
"You can't even be called human anymore."
"Khehehe... A foolish choice, deciding to fight us in the night."
As the Teacher raised his hand as if giving a signal, the bodies of the Evil God worshippers began to twist and mutate, transforming into grotesque monsters. Some were a hybrid of locust and human, while others sprouted scales like snakes.
"What do you think?"
"Do as you please," Aryen muttered, drawing aura into his sword. As he did, he cast a brief glance behind him.
To where Isis would be treating the child. They would likely be discovered by the villagers before long.
In the end, this was how the world was. It did not change through coincidence or luck. It did not smile upon you even if you struggled honestly. He didn't know how the Hero's party would respond to the oncoming mob of villagers, but if harm were to come to Isis, he didn't know how long he could remain idle.
...Yes. You will feel it this time too.
Feeling a faint surge of anger toward the Hero, Aryen swung his sword toward the Evil God worshippers.