Childcare (Part 4)
"Kieeeek—!!"
It had petals, and it had a stem... but could anyone in their right mind truly call that thing a flower? Bristling with jagged fangs, twitching eyeballs, and festering tumors, it looked downright revolting. Worse still, it was actively devouring a human being.
"Yes, we definitely need a flower. The house is far too dreary."
...I could have sworn it was just a flower back then.
When renovating the squalid shack he had inherited from Lucia's mother, he had purchased an unusually large, unfamiliar blossom from the market with his own coin, thinking it might stimulate the child's emotional development. Resembling a massive sunflower, its elegant contours and sweet fragrance had immediately captured the infant's fascination. And the flowerpot... was identical. It seemed that very bloom had somehow morphed into this botanical nightmare.
"Kik—?!"
"...?"
While I was desperately trying to make sense of the absurdity before my eyes, the creature—midway through crunching on human flesh—suddenly realized I was standing there and shuddered violently. A houseplant reading the room? Written down, it sounded like utter madness, but what could I do when reality was staring me in the face?
Shhh—
What the actual fuck?
Evidently deciding it was best to play dumb, the flower spat out the half-swallowed man, smoothed down its grotesque appendages, and rapidly shifted back into its original form. The crooked fangs, rolling eyeballs, and swollen tumors vanished without a trace, leaving a pristine blossom in their wake. The foul stench of corrosive saliva evaporated, instantly replaced by a delicate, intoxicating floral perfume. Not that the lovely aroma accomplished much, considering the crimson gore spattered across its petals and the mound of ground-up human meat lying right beside it.
Shiver, tremble—
"..."
Judging by how desperately the stem was trembling, it seemed terrified of being cast aside. Well... uh, it was definitely staying right here. Dumping it out on the street would invite a catastrophe, and bringing it over to our new residence ran the risk of it harming Lucia. While it had remained perfectly docile whenever Lucia watered it, now that I knew it was anything but an ordinary flower, I couldn't in good conscience keep it anywhere near her.
"Ah, ahhh..."
As I pondered how to dispose of the carnivore, a strangled groan of terror echoed from beside me. Right. I had completely forgotten about this guy. I had rushed back here specifically to track down a priest to examine Lucia's condition, only to be momentarily derailed by this grotesque weed.
How should I handle him?
This was the first time an outsider had ever stepped foot inside the house. Looking at his vestments, he seemed to be an ordinary priest who had accidentally stumbled upon this place while ministering in the slums, and his traveling companion had ended up as fertilizer. Well... um. Finding a cleric so quickly was great, but an apology came first. If I brazenly demanded he examine Lucia right after his comrade had been butchered before his very eyes, there was no way he would cooperate.
"I offer my sincere apologies. It appears your servant has perished."
I used to despise this haughty, archaic tone forced upon me by this demonic body, but moments like this made it quite convenient. It automatically handled the formalities for me.
An apology? Did that monster truly say an apology?
Could this genuinely be called the attitude of someone offering an apology? A faint, cruel sneer hovered around his lips, while his head gave the barest, mocking semblance of an inclination. His tone was suffocatingly solemn and courteous—an excessive, chilling formality that made it painfully obvious he was ridiculing him. What reason on earth did an archdemon have to treat his prey with respect? Above all, after butchering a man so mercilessly and feeding him to a demonic monstrosity... he dared to offer an apology?!
There was a limit to how deeply one could insult a human being!
...Vile creature.
Worse still, the demon made no move to strike. He merely stood tall, impassively observing his every flinch and shudder. Of course. Demons never took pleasure in simply slaughtering their victims right away. He was merely watching him like a spectator at a dog fight, curious to see whether he would weep, beg for his life, or flee in blind panic.
"Young acolyte, what should you do if you discover a victim of a demon?"
"Since demons toy with the victim's mind, shouldn't we first provide emotional comfort and spiritual sanctuary?"
"That holds true only under the assumption that the demon has been thoroughly and completely eradicated. But when the demon remains intact before you, the doctrine changes entirely."
—You must put the victim to death, freeing them from the demon's torment. Only then can you sever the demon's growth.
Though it was a lesson from his boyhood, it remained seared into his soul to this day. Demons nourished themselves on the negative emotions of their prey. Self-directed agony like pain, despair, and guilt, as well as outward malice like jealousy, resentment, hatred, and wrath—every scrap of negative emotion served as their sustenance. For that very reason, a demon never killed rashly.
They toyed with their victims like disposable playthings, grinding down their psyches layer by agonizing layer, gorging on their anguish until their minds wore away entirely. Only when the victim ceased to exist as a conscious persona would the demon grant them death—the ultimate agony—to feast upon their very last dregs of emotion.
Yet this demon had simply butchered the servant outright without savoring a single drop of suffering. Why?
Could his stature be so astronomical that he disdains feeding on such petty emotions?
Just as a king does not stoop to pluck a tarnished copper from the gutter... If this entity was of that caliber... Damn it all. Unquestionably, this demon existed in a different dimension from any horror he had ever encountered. From the suffocating mana that made the very atmosphere vibrate with dread to the sublime poise of his slightest movements, he commanded an overwhelming presence that would reduce a demon duke to the status of a lowly imp.
He had to report the emergence of such an archdemon to the holy temple by any means necessary... but tragically, there was no avenue of escape. This entire house was already a massive, breathing dungeon—a living entity in its own right. Even if he turned on his heel and sprinted for the exit, the spatial fabric itself would warp and stretch, ensuring he would wander its halls for eternity without ever reaching the door. Yes. Far better to take his own life right now and deny the demon his prize—
"First, I shall rectify this error."
"—?!"
The demon extended an arm. In an instant, innumerable magic circles manifested around his limb like layered, glowing rings. At first, the priest assumed it was an execution strike. But... no. Those circles were not designed for destruction. Though he had dedicated his entire life to the clergy and remained largely ignorant of arcane spellcraft, he could not mistake the sublime intricacy woven into that array.
Holy-element magic circles interlocking with dark-element magic circles...? What madness is this...?!
A demon casting holy magic? It defied all cosmic logic. Half-demons born of mortal blood might possess that potential, but pure demons—monstrosities birthed directly from the negative miasma of the Demon Realm, beings whose very essence was darkness and evil—could never wield holy power. No matter what trickery they employed, it was fundamentally impossible. Yet... what was he seeing? How in the gods' names could he wield holy magic—
Crack— Snap— Crunch—
"How... in the world..."
He was coming back. The servant—whose bones had been splintered and crushed into powder, whose flesh had been shredded, severed, and compressed into pulp—was knitting back together before his eyes.
Rip— Tear—
"Kieeeek!"
The swallowed meat violently tore its way out of the flower's stem, flying through the air to merge back into the mass of flesh. Every drop of blood splattered across the floor defied gravity, rising like scarlet dew to soak back into the reconstituting body. Under normal circumstances, if a demon used magic to raise a corpse, it would undoubtedly be necromancy. The target should have risen as an undead monstrosity—a ghoul, a zombie, a skeleton, or a vengeful specter. Yet... it wasn't. The sorcery this demon was unraveling was not some vulgar form of necromancy.
"H-Huh...? What's... going on...?"
"..."
Time Reversal.
The demon had rewound the local flow of time, eradicating the very event of the servant's death from the tapestry of causality. Consequently, the servant had not even undergone resurrection. Because he had simply remained intact and alive from the beginning, the concept of resurrection did not even apply. The death had undeniably transpired, yet reality itself had been rewritten as if it had never happened.
"Ha, haha... Hahaha..."
He had guessed completely wrong. The reason this demon had slaughtered the servant so casually was... because he could bring him back whenever he pleased. Not even death offered an escape from this nightmare. Only a perpetuity of inescapable agony awaited them in the palm of this monster's hand.
Damn, Time Reversal actually worked!
A sudden flash of inspiration had struck my mind, so I gave it a shot. While it was utterly exhausting, it hadn't just barely functioned—it had succeeded flawlessly. As effortless and natural as drawing a breath. If only I had known how to use this back when Lucia's mother was dying.
Hmm... Seeing this, raid boss Faust almost certainly possessed a time magic gimmick during his encounter.
...Ugh, diabolical.
When designing a raid boss, HP regeneration mechanics should generally be avoided at all costs. Beating players down one by one until they wiped was fine, but a boss restoring its own health provided zero sense of achievement or urgency—it just left a thoroughly foul taste in the players' mouths. However, since Faust commanded time magic so freely, it was virtually guaranteed that his raid script in Noah featured time manipulation patterns. And among those patterns, HP recovery was the most obvious way for a game engine to visually telegraph chronomancy to players.
Of course, the developers could have implemented plenty of other time gimmicks—rewinding players back to where they stood several seconds ago, infusing massive slow debuffs, and so forth... but seeing how second-nature resurrecting someone felt, a healing pattern or revival phase was definitely baked into his code.
"Ha, haha... Hahaha..."
Still, looking at it right now, it turned out great. Thanks to Time Reversal, an innocent man who died unfairly was right back on his feet. The priest's laughter was... well, distinctly unhinged, but surely there was at least a sliver of relief mixed in there. Who wouldn't be overjoyed to see their traveling companion returned from the dead?
"Priest, follow me. There is work for you to do."
The priest, whose face had been contorted with sheer terror and revulsion just moments ago, had ceased glaring at me like that. Instead, he now wore a deeply intricate, unreadable expression laden with a storm of conflicting emotions. First impressions had been pretty catastrophic, but all things considered, I think I patched things up rather well.