Saving the Saintess from the Pope
A sharp rumble like a spike piercing the earth—ku-gu-gu-gung! The ground trembled as if it might split open. Sara's face hardened as she arrived at the Malic Church. "Lenoir...?"
Lenoir was fighting. It felt just like that night when chaos erupted in Hilton's back alleys. Should she go to him? Worry welled up, but Sara forced it down. No. If I go, I'll just get in his way.
Her mind spun faster in the face of crisis. Lenoir himself had guaranteed it, and everyone around praised him—no one could even imagine him losing to anyone. Charging in now would just give him more pointless distractions. So instead...
"Where's the Saintess!"
"Over there! We have to go that way!"
"Jo-as-seo!" Sara quickened her pace, following Malic's lead.
The church's atmosphere was off. All the priests lay unconscious. A few holy knights staggered about, but no one paid any mind to Sara sprinting through.
Why was the enemy's home base in such chaos? Malic, fuming with frustration, answered Sara's sudden question.
"That Pope bastard's reclaiming all the divinity from the followers! At this rate, even I'll vanish!"
"Why's the Pope suddenly doing that?"
"It's not sudden! He's always wanted a perfect body to become a demigod! That's why he's been running this church!"
"I don't get what you're saying!"
"Roughly speaking, the Pope's trying to take over Justina's body!"
"Whaaat!? The Pope wants to become king of the boobs!?"
"...Sigh, yeah!"
"That rotten bastard!!! I haven't even touched 'em myself!"
Malic was speechless. Watching Sara snort and rage made him question if trusting her was the right call. Unlike Orin, who'd been locked away atop his throne, Malic had knowledge of the world. During the multiple relocations of the Malic Church while turning the spirit into a god, he'd shared plenty of talks with the Pope—though more like being bossed around than conspiring. Still, it meant he had enough smarts to judge a teenager's discernment.
He couldn't not know Sara was incredibly one-track-minded. And yet, her situational awareness was freakishly sharp, which was downright baffling. In the end, though, that sharp info-grasping led to conclusions like "the Pope stealing boobs," tanking any trust he had.
But no backing out now. After all, he hadn't sought her out for her brains. It was because Sara's divinity was special. An absolute purity no one could invade or taint. Though meager as a grain of rice, its unchanging nature held an absoluteness even a spirit-god like Malic couldn't touch.
There was something only that divinity could do.
"You're different. Your presence is special. You can definitely separate me from Justina!"
"Whaaat!? You want boobs too...?"
"Argh! Just go!"
"Yep!"
Malic had lost all the divinity he'd built as a god to Justina. Since it wasn't a completed demigod vessel yet, it wasn't too late. To separate the divinity from Justina, they needed a fitting medium—and in Malic's eyes, nothing beat Sara's divinity. Get to Justina somehow, separate the divinity, done. He hadn't thought beyond that.
"Justina! Justina...!"
For nearly two centuries, he'd been tossed around by the Pope's whims, his heart withering away. Then came Justina, the first outsider he'd met in those dark times—a haughty yet kind girl who'd treated him purely as a friend. Always grumbling, inconsistent, but never capable of hating others till the end. To Malic, Justina was his one true friend, his family.
Even if the whole church crumbled, he had to save her. Impatience boiled in him.
Then Sara spoke. "It's okay. Don't worry too much."
"Huh?"
Sara panted but didn't slow down, a smile lighting her face. "Lenoir'll handle it! It'll be fine, so let's just focus on saving the Saintess's boobs!"
"Not boobs—think about Justina!"
"The Saintess is boobs!"
"That's... true, but!"
Justina's identity was her massive chest—bigger than her head, and she flaunted it proudly. No matter how weirdly Sara put it, Malic couldn't deny the fact.
Separately, he felt his impatience ease a bit. What a weird girl. She yanked out the tension, wiping away needless anxiety. She had this magic that made you think everything would turn out fine, no matter what.
"Yeah..."
Reassuring. There was this pull. It steadied his shaken heart.
That's when Orin spoke up.
"Sara...!"
"Huh!?"
"Over there—the boobs...!"
Whoosh! Sara whipped her head around. In the direction Orin indicated, two staggering holy knights were dragging the unconscious Justina somewhere.
"You bastards!!!"
Veins bulging on her forehead, Sara charged. She leaped into the air and slammed a flying kick into one knight's head.
"Give me back my boobs!!!"
Tang! The drained knights toppled over in unison, out cold. Malic hopped onto Justina's body, and Sara rushed up, yelling, "Boo—no, Saintess! Are you okay!?"
They'd crossed the first hurdle.
Sara checked Justina's condition. Her expression turned grave in an instant.
"Whoa, she's burning up..."
Her body was scorching—not just a fever, but like touching red-hot iron.
"The divinities are clashing! Pour in your divinity to calm it...!"
"Got it! That's my specialty!"
Sara's eyes lit up. Poof! A glowing orb appeared above her head.
A poignant moment. Sara Lorojin was finally using her divinity meaningfully for the first time—not just for late-night bathroom trips!
Sara inhaled deeply and overlaid the divine light onto Justina's body.
"Hraaaah!!!"
And then...!
"Nothing happened!"
"...Are you an idiot? Just plopping a light blob on top won't change anything. It'll just light up her guts!"
"That's how it works!?"
"Do you even know how to use divinity?"
Cold sweat poured from Sara. Orin nodded smugly.
"Well... it's Sara, after all...!"
Malic's light blob wobbled. Sara glanced away awkwardly.
"...Should I, like, slobber on it or something?"
"No need. I'll teach you—entrust your body to me."
"H-how?"
"I'll show you how to wield the divinity."
Sara nodded. Malic climbed onto her head. A spirit's essence was pure light, so you'd expect no sensation—but not for Sara.
"Ehehehng...!"
It tickled. She bore the soul of a goddess, and Malic was a spirit nesting in that soul—their rapport was sky-high, causing the disorientation. Unconsciously, the stability and fondness they felt for each other stemmed from it too.
Smack! Malic slapped Sara's giggling head.
"Focus!"
"Okay!"
"Feel anything? Ugh, this divinity's ridiculously heavy."
As Malic shuddered, Sara felt a warmth in her chest twitch. The energy was starting to flow.
"Ooh...?"
"Now, shape it into a tiny blade. Use that to peel off my divinity clinging to Justina. Even a small gap's enough—they were never meant to stick together anyway."
Blade. Blade. Chanting it inwardly, the divinity began to morph. When she first got it, it was rice-grain sized; now it was as big as a pinky nail. Malic said that was plenty.
The divine blade traced down her arm to her index finger. Sara thrilled at the divinity shifting by her will, feeling both wonder and deep familiarity. It was like she could do so much more. A baseless certainty that this wasn't her limit.
She slowly opened her eyes, ears ringing. Malic's voice sounded muffled, like underwater. But Justina was right there. Now she could see the blue divinity filling her entirely—overwhelmingly thick, smothering Justina's form. Instinct screamed it was too much for her; without intervention, Justina's soul would crumple and vanish, leaving an empty shell.
Sara tried to slice it away as Malic instructed. But a corner of her mind whispered it wouldn't end cleanly.
The Saintess will hurt.
It'd scar her soul—like ripping glue off skin, it'd leave a nasty mark. Sara pondered a better way. Like peeking through a door crack, an answer came unbidden, even as she barely grasped what she was doing.
Her divinity burrowed into Justina's soul.
"What are you doing—!"
Malic's scream tore through the air. At the same moment, Sara felt her mind sucked into Justina's body.