The Heavenly Ledger
When Raksha returned, the base still stood beneath the crimson sky. Even from afar, the stench of blood and ash mingled with something new—rotting water, iron, half-cooked flesh. Raksha swept his gaze over the ramparts once before heading straight for the gates. A demon guarding the gate above spotted him and immediately straightened up.
"Raksha's back!"
The rough voice echoed across the stone.
The moment he stepped inside, a demon back from scouting rushed up first. Black blotches clung to his arms and legs like mold.
"Raksha!"
Panting, the demon reported. "The plague fog reached right up to the gates."
"Astamar."
"Yes. An upper demon carrying a bouquet of rotting flowers brought his minions through the fog..."
The demon glanced back briefly. Toward the training grounds, the gates, the treatment area.
"We held them off."
Before the words even settled, footsteps pounded from the end of the corridor.
"Raksha!"
It was El. Her red hair swayed as she skidded to a halt. Nas and Zan stood beside her. Nas caught his breath and reported at once.
"Around noon, Astamar approached."
"Tried rotting the gate foundations with plague fog, sent his minions to claw at the walls."
Raksha asked, "Us."
"Gart held the front with shields. Morcan flanked."
"Balrag used his authority, and we endured with an inner defensive formation."
Nas added, steadying his breath. "Out of combat-ready personnel, a dozen injured. No fatalities."
"Blocked it once inside before it reached the treatment area. Astamar retreated, leaving only a few minions behind—couldn't fully corrode it."
Only then did Raksha's gaze shift to Zan. Zan bowed his head.
"You returned."
Raksha asked, "You held them."
"......Yes."
Zan's fingertips clenched slightly, then relaxed.
"How."
Zan hesitated a moment before speaking. "...I didn't complete the 'prayer' all the way like before."
"Clasped my hands out of habit, but deliberately cut it off midway."
Nas added quietly. "When the plague fog burrowed toward the treatment area, light burst from the corridor entrance all at once."
"It flared once, lingered briefly, then vanished."
Zan looked down at his hands. "I didn't pass the prayer to anyone—just severed it inside myself."
"That's what stopped it on my end."
Raksha passed by Zan's side and glanced at the corridor floor. Amid the blood and ash, faint marks lingered in the stone cracks. Raksha tapped the stone once.
"A force pushing out from within... Plenty of uses here."
El's lips curved up. "Right? I thought the same."
Nas nodded. "Details inside."
Raksha called to Zan. "Zan."
"Yes."
"Your story now. From start to finish."
Raksha's tone was even, but beneath it lay a firm resolve. Understand this human. Raksha turned to El. "El, Zan. Command room."
To Nas, curtly: "Nas, keep handling the outside. Meeting later."
"Understood."
The command room was a forcibly salvaged remnant of the collapsed tower. One wall held a rough map of Hell; the other, a simple desk and chairs. Raksha jerked his chin at one chair.
"Sit."
Zan sat quietly. El leaned against the wall by the window. Raksha stood facing them both.
"Talk."
Zan closed his eyes once, then opened them. "......From the beginning."
Raksha cut in. "Essentials only."
"Yes."
Zan pressed his lips together, then slowly parted them.
"The first prayer was fire."
"Flames came down from the mountains, roofs nearly all ablaze."
"People hauled water from wells; I fled to the church."
"Didn't know any prayers."
"Just begged to be saved."
Zan's eyes drifted for a moment. "That's when the voice came."
El turned her head. "Voice?"
"Yes. Not through my ears. Straight into my head, from the start."
Raksha's eyes narrowed slightly. "And the flames veered from the village. Wind shifted to the next one over."
The room fell quiet.
"Thought it was a miracle then. Everyone did."
"That's how I became a saint."
Raksha pressed. "Next."
"Dragged to the battlefield."
Zan's voice dried up. "There, prayers weren't requests anymore."
"Commands. Directions. Outcomes."
"And the strange part: the voice always came first, before I prayed."
"Here, there, up to here."
"What to collapse, what to sicken, what to sever."
"Decided before I even opened my mouth."
Raksha murmured low. "Orders."
"......Yes. I believed it was God's will."
Zan's fingertips trembled faintly. "But as prayers piled up, the price always followed."
"Beg to save one side, the other burns."
"Beg to stop one, the other halts first."
"Beg to win, victory always meant—someone dying more than needed."
El spat through gritted teeth. "Disgusting."
Zan drew a short breath. "The last was a valley."
"They said enemies hid there—crush the whole thing."
"Voice spoke first again......Up to here."
"I prayed, and the mountain collapsed."
"Not just enemies—civilian homes behind too."
Zan's voice shrank. "There... I knew a child......Henri."
Raksha didn't flinch. His eyes sorted Zan's words like tallying numbers.
Zan continued. "We won the war. Then plague swept through right after."
"At first, they begged prayers."
"Then, why couldn't you save our child? Why this house lives, that one dies?"
"......Eventually, witch."
Zan's hands stiffened limply on his knees. "Bound me. My mother too."
"Pyre."
El cursed low. "They rot too. Borrow hands, burn 'em when done."
Zan nodded faintly. "Saw fire again that day."
"Woke to—"
Zan lowered his voice. "Heaven."
Raksha asked. "The voice you heard there."
Zan affirmed. "Same."
"Not ears. Head."
"Breath pauses, rising end—habits too."
"Completely."
El exhaled by the window. "So the one issuing orders from above."
"......Angels."
Zan nodded. "Heaven had prayers."
"Piled up. Countless."
"Not prayer texts—prayer records."
"Who prayed where, what happened, who died."
"And where those deaths led."
Raksha murmured low. "They run it like books."
Zan didn't stop. "They called me special."
"Chosen. Reaching earth and heaven both."
"Then, do it from above now."
"More. Spread farther."
"Praised the wars I made, deaths I wrought."
Zan's voice began to shake. "God was pleased, they said."
"Excellent. Many souls ascended."
"Those words—"
Zan paused, then forced on. "Felt wrong."
"Like I wasn't saving, just shifting."
"Not rescuing, just killing as needed."
"Prayer not blessing, but trade."
Raksha said low. "So you fled."
"Yes, over the railing."
"Saw red rift below. Knew it was Hell—no explanation needed."
"Voice said then too."
"Return. Keep praying."
Zan met Raksha's eyes straight. "So I didn't listen."
"And fell."
The room went still. Raksha spoke slowly, like a verdict.
"Good."
"Prayers are ledgers."
"Voices aren't God—angels."
El spat sharply from the window. "Trash."
Raksha eyed Zan. "Hear it now?"
"...No. After using that red energy, it cut off."
"Don't know if I severed it... or someone did."
Raksha closed his eyes briefly, then met Zan's. "Good. Confirm why it stopped. And what you're using now."
Zan bowed his head quietly. "......Yes."
Why heaven touched earth, what countless prayers and ledgers meant—still unknown.
But one thing was clear.
This world's humans wielded power like angels and demons too.