Chapter 113
Translator: uly
Chapter: 113
Chapter Title: -113
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Translator: uly
Chapter: 113
Chapter Title: First Murder
The angels were transporting the sacred Ark of the Covenant, inscribed with the oaths of all races, to the temple at Or's head-the intact Holy of Holies.
With hymns ringing out, the Mir Yam flew above them for protection, and the procession of angels marched on under the guidance of Archangel Jeker.
Judging by the majestic procession-angels taking three steps along Or's spine, praying, then rising to take three more-it would take a full day longer for the Ark to reach the Holy of Holies.
No, it might not even finish after Iveldra and the Demon King's wedding rite.
Cheret, watching the scene from the window once more, muttered to herself.
"I'm good with that. Then let's stay one day in this lofty heaven. Not everyone can head to Sonain's house, but we can'tough it out here for a day. I want to hang out more with Iveldra anyway. Sure, the only one who'd object among us is that red guy, but it's not like we'll ever get back together like this after splitting up. If we're gonna do something... a festival now, while everyone's here, sounds best."
Agagtur, passing by, incredulously chewed his Matna and shot back at Ets.
"Hey, kid, you got it wrong. I know you helped Iveldra, but I've always been closer. The guy's a brute with no tact. His only friend is Sonain. Right, skinny?"
"I'm the type who doesn't do friends from the start."
Everyone in the chest temple shook their heads at Ets's words.
Among them, the Demon King and Tehila exchanged glances before quietly approaching Promnain.
"Promnain, take this."
"This records the knowledge the Demon King and I gained in the hidden world. Organize it carefully. It may hold everything needed until this star is fully formed-a task to resolve while the gods and Mir remain here."
Promnain nodded, curled his hand into a circle, and relayed the matter to all angels via Matsa.
Watching this, the Demon King threw an arm around Promnain's shoulders and said,
"I wish I could share my will through one of those too. I'll tell the blacksmith Archangel to craft something like it himself. That way, I can chat with you, yeah? I like you, Promnain. Not because you're Sonain's friend, but because your knowledge and wisdom outshine us all. That's probably why Neshef denied you the right to speak. Silence is agony... but sublime for it."
Promnain shyly smiled and nodded.
"If only I could share your wisdom, I'd shape the world far better. I believe the racial divides we set at the dawn will one day lose all meaning. We'll fade slowly, everyone changing. That's why you, recorder of all pasts, intrigue me more than Jemira who sees futures or the Saintess who interprets them into oracles. Iveldra must feel the same."
"Friend, what's with the sour talk?"
Glory's Archangel Sonain approached from Or's chest-his own home-after inspecting it.
"My brother's already Or's most devoted servant in this lofty realm. No matter how much you covet him, I won't yield the Archangel of Wisdom! Sure, this war saddled him with the disgraceful Silent Angel role, but dividing angels from archangels by wing count? We're a flawed lot."
"Isn't that what I always say? You lot are too rigid, too authoritarian."
For Promnain, earning praise from this story's two central pillars was a huge boon-but the weight was crushing.
He wasn't used to it. All he wanted was to hole up in that tiny room by Or's lowest underground waterway, sort the eerie familiarity he felt toward the Saintess, and study the inverted world.
"Ah, hold on. If you two don't mind, I have more to discuss with Promnain. I'll take him to his lab."
But Tehila had more to ask him. As one of the finest angels for such research, she hoped to debate drawing out a deeper empathetic state-like a god's manifestation-in sharing power with her agent, as the Mir described.
As Tehila led Promnain away, the strongest Demon King, strongest angel, and closest of friends conversed.
"Hahaha, now to check the bedroom. You know I didn't suggest crashing at my place for your sake? It's for Iveldra to rest easy. You should heal your war wounds before the rite, tidy your garb too. Won't do to just get wasted on this holy night."
"I'll manage. Your words sound less like a sublime Hero's and more like stuffy stubbornness from some gnarled old tree. Of course, friend, as you say-this war saw Neshef manifest through me, so the wounds run deep. If you're game, Sonain, I'd like to inspect and wash up too."
Sonain hoisted the Demon King onto one shoulder with a grin and boasted,
"Ha! I felt Or's manifestation strain too. Like old times, then-wash in the holy water like Or's sacred blood. Baptize each other, talk friendship, rinse these war-spawned wounds and gore. Do that, and tomorrow..."
"Aaah, shut it. And don't forget to send an angel for my booze. Sneak one from Eden's finest for tomorrow-like you said, cherish that friendship!"
Thus vanished this tale's two vital pillars, unveiling the final one's tale.
The moment the Saintess manifested Miflas in the Holy of Holies.
***
The Holy of Holies: holiest spot in the tabernacle, where god dwells. There, the Saintess stepped slowly forward. She wore only a thin cerulean cloth-no deity garb, no outer clothes, no underthings.
"El Miflas."
Cautiously circling the sanctuary, she invoked the manifestation. No light pierced this place-save the prayer spot awaiting the Ark, barren otherwise. Any light entering now was Miflas itself. Chilling blue swirled in her eyes.
"Come to me."
Hands raised, she inhaled the flickering eerie flame through nose and mouth.
Holy blue energy flooded her face and body, gleaming through her skin. She collapsed.
Thud.
Disheveled cloth and hair mingled with blue glow-like a fantasy. But her rising was grotesque. Arms buckling, waist twisting, legs folding, body bowing like drawn steel-she wept tears of rapture, laughing.
All senses unlocked through that twisted face, blue light like wings or horns flickered atop her head. She rose.
"Ahh, my sole god."
She fully sensed Miflas cloaking her. And Miflas spoke.
"Sin's spawn shall perish utterly; the world will heed light and dawn. Peace comes at last. None shall follow harmony. Yet unlike other wills, I speak with thee. Thou art my anointed king and Saintess. Thus, do as I do."
"What must I do?"
"This world endures by will and memory. Or's will, Neshef's will grace this land already-mine alone lacks root. Aid my will to stain this earth. I shall deem thee my dearest, fairest blade."
"And what gain I thereby?"
Though voicing through one flesh, Miflas spoke with malice dwarfing the Saintess-brutal, cruel, seductive, darkness-near pure evil.
"All thou desirest, granted."
The Saintess shut her eyes, undaunted this time.
"Bestow thy power."
Clothed once more, she exited with Miflas's power and wicked scheme. Jemira waited afar for the nearing Ark.
The Saintess approached and whispered,
"Jemira, might we speak briefly?"
***
Some time later, deep night: Promnain hurried home to Or's sacred house after scheming with Tehila on manifesting-or rather, deploying-the Mir she mentioned onto one body and subject.
"Oh! That's my friend passing now."
The Demon King approached warmly. Pleasantly drunk as ever, his attire betrayed his path to the bedroom Sonain-his brother-had readied.
"You're already on my way-not alone, walk with me."
Arm slung 'round Promnain again, he spoke of Sonain's friendship; sin's spawn unnaturally rooting within; Neshef's will; plans to shape this world ahead.
Long trek led flame-free depths of Or's house, veiled in layered gorgeous silks.
"Right, today's chats we'll pick up later. Sonain's house, his room-so I'll head in solo."
The Demon King said this, but Promnain-worried at his merry stagger-watched his back.
Like a curtain rising, Sonain's bedroom unveiled. Manifest Sonain stood within.
"Friend?"
His sword plunged deep in Iveldra's chest.
This instant: the world's first murder dawned.
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