Severing the Nightmare's Threads
Sara felt her reason unraveling in a hazy fog, like sinking headfirst into a warm bath. The world rippled, her body went limp. Then, whoosh!—reason yanked her back, the scenery snapping into sharp focus. That was weird.
"Huh?"
It wasn't the cathedral. Well, it was a cathedral, but not the one she'd just been in. Rumble-rumble-roooar—the sky loomed a thick ashen gray. Sara stood in a vast worship hall with its ceiling torn away, and at the altar before the empty space hung Justina.
Sara jolted in shock.
"Saintess!!!"
Justina dangled in midair, wrapped and suspended by slithering tendrils of blue divinity like a serpent's coils. Even now, her monstrously ample bosom defiantly proved gravity was real.
Sara bolted over and threw her arms around Justina.
"Aigoo! Saintess! Get up quick! Your boobs are gonna sag like this!!!"
She shook with all her might, but Justina showed no sign of waking. She had body heat, she was breathing, but she felt exactly like a corpse. Sara stomped her feet in frustration. Then she spotted the blue divinity coiling around her.
"Hrrgh...!"
That was the problem. Those tendrils of divinity seemed to be constantly dragging Justina's mind down into slumber.
What do I do?
As she thought, her mind touched on what had just happened. This place definitely wasn't reality. She couldn't quite remember how she'd gotten here, but she'd come with the firm belief that a way existed. The answer was already in her head. It felt like peeking through the crack of a locked chest, or glimpsing beyond a bolted door. She tried to pull that sensation back.
Sara squeezed her eyes shut and banged her fists on her own head.
"Come on, Sara! Think! You're a goddess!"
That was the moment.
Crack!
"Eek!"
Had her skull split open?!
...No, it was the sound of the worship hall's edge crumbling away. Sara freaked out and plastered herself to Justina's body, trembling like a cicada clinging to a tree.
"Saintess! We're screwed! Wake up quick!"
The situation was so dire, her mouth ran wild without filter. Hic! Hic! Gasping for breath, in her panic she even slapped Justina's breasts smack-smack.
That was when it happened.
Severance.
"Huh?"
A voice wrapped around her ear. Incredibly warm and compassionate—a woman's voice. She whipped around, scanning everywhere, but no one was there. It hit her late: the voice was echoing in her mind.
Mental discord born from imbalance of ki and body. Bind it with severance and suture.
Two scenes overlapped dizzyingly on Sara's retinas. One was the worship hall; the other, a hazy woman seated on a dazzling jade throne. She had golden hair cascading to the floor. Behind her rose a halo like Lenoir's, and above it protruded nine red needles. Her face was invisible. Sara just knew she was smiling.
It was surreal. None of the elements were particularly special, yet her presence was so otherworldly that even as a translucent vision, it blotted out the worship hall entirely.
Hurry.
Sara startled at the words. The moment she nodded, the method to separate divinity from flesh etched itself into her brain. It was the same as before. As if she'd known it all along, everything came naturally.
Sara's divinity sharpened into a blade. With a light swing of her hand, it sliced through the blue divinity around Justina's neck.
"Puhh...!"
Justina grimaced and gasped for air. Still not fully conscious, but Sara grinned brightly and yelled,
"Saintess! Wake up! Come on!"
She will not awaken that way.
"Ow!"
Whip! Sara whipped her head around, glaring at the woman.
"Tell me exactly what to do! You talk so vaguely! That's my thing, okay!? Skipping explanations is my privilege!"
Pfft...!
"Huh!? Laughing!? You're laughing?!"
How could I not find it amusing.
It sounded mocking, but it was more pure delight. She continued with evident amusement.
Is there reason to ask me?
The woman propped her chin on her hand. Seated on the blindingly bright jade throne—even her silhouette blurred—she crossed her legs and spoke.
You already know all that I know.
"But..."
You do not comprehend?
Languidly, with unshakeable certainty.
That you and I are not different.
Right then, the woman blew a soft "hoo" into the air. Chaos erupted.
Kiiiiiiing—!
Her halo thrummed wildly. The nine red needles vibrated in unison, bobbing up and down, etching countless red points across it. Sara's gaze went somewhat vacant. The golden wheel encompassed past, present, and future. The name for piercing it with needles was fate. Repeating inscription and erasure endlessly toward flawless perfection—that was providence.
Sara's eyes widened to tearing point. The moment the halo's information slammed into her mind, she understood the woman's identity.
Goddess...?
Immaculate Fate. The one Lenoir longed for so desperately. One of the seventeen transcendent creators of the world, and the wicked one who'd abandoned him.
As her lips parted, the goddess snapped her fingers merrily.
Act upon it. As your will reaches.
Baaaaang—!
The air screamed like a sonic boom. Simultaneously, Sara's eyes flooded gold.
"Ah...!"
Flames surged in her chest. Omnipotence swelled—she could do anything. Air swirled around her. The divinity melted into it, becoming her hands and feet.
Kiiing—Behind Sara's back, her divinity spun into a single thread, tracing a circle.
Creeeak, creeeak. The sound of mannequin joints turning filled the space. Justina swept her unfocused eyes over it.
It's the orphanage.
The orphanage where Justina had grown up. Where mana-addicted children groaned in agony. As if recreating it, giant mannequins in Malik priests' robes pretended to tend to child mannequins lying on beds.
Justina lay weakened among the child mannequins on a bed. The ceiling glowed blue, rippling and weighing down the air. Breath caught in her throat. The blurred memories sharpened again.
Her horrific childhood. Abandoned by her parents at five. Ordinary tenant farmers, they couldn't handle a mana-addicted child and sold her to the church priests who came calling—for two silver coins. The only expression Justina remembered from her parents was relief barely suppressed into guilt.
Too young to understand abandonment, she'd just come here in pain. Screamed and cried from the unknown solution the priests injected. Once, she'd trembled in terror watching the child on the next bed die and vanish.
Back then, Justina had felt like she didn't exist in the world. No one acknowledged her screams or tears; she thought vanishing would make her nothing at all.
When that terror crested, she'd think: I don't want to die. Someone notice I'm suffering here. See me.
In truth, her attention-seeking near-obsession stemmed from that childhood. Unconsciously, she'd thought if someone remembered her, they might come looking if she vanished. But she knew it was just whining. Justina's lips moved, but no words came.
Kreeeak, kreeeak. The mannequins repeated preset motions. Their glossy, eyeless faces chilled her. More than that, the loneliness crushed her.
Just not this moment. I want a different memory.
She glared at the blue ceiling. But it mocked her wish, rewriting the scene into something worse.
Kreeeek-kreek—The child mannequins convulsed in unison, shattering. The priest mannequins calmly withdrew, and into the debris-strewn ward stepped a mannequin in ornate robes. The pope.
He turned his face to Justina and clap-clap-clapped.
The background shifted. The church headquarters' basement. Justina was a bit older, needles jabbed into her arms and nape. "Suitable one." The word she'd heard most at fifteen. They said she was suitable for something, so they had to "complete" her for presentation. She spent more time unconscious than awake, living in agony.
She didn't want to remember. Wanted to forget the queasy feeling of her body filled with more potions than blood.
But the blue light was merciless.
Kreeeek—Everywhere her vision touched, mannequins identical to her convulsed with injections. Nausea surged. Her eyes shook. Breath quickened. She wanted to close her eyes, but couldn't. Her mind crumbled.
What happened next...?
...Right, no salvation. The pope who'd done all this layered every restraint on her body. Any rebellion reproduced the experiment's pain as punishment. She had to obey. Fortunately, perfect compliance with experiments left other areas untouched, giving breathing room. She hadn't realized it was her leash back then.
She laughed hollowly. All this just drilled in that her future would be pointless, unchanging. Maybe sleeping forever would be easier. She felt she could now.
As Justina moved to close her eyes without much thought—
"Saaaaintesssss!!!"
A wildly clamorous shout rattled her ears. Justina flinched and opened her eyes. There, before her—
"Huh? Your boobs got smaller... No, younger? Wait, that's not it! Ahem! Saintess! Snap out of it! I'm here to save you!"
A hyper, frantic blonde girl was right in front of her.