At dawn, a faint red light streamed from the central structure of the Fire Temple of Meslamtaea, casting its glow across the entire Underworld and slightly dispelling the chill beneath the earth.
On the cliff, a cold wind howled. Wrapped in a red cloak, the ancient snake shivered, coiled tightly. It wriggled out from under the fabric, poked its head out, and instinctively scanned the surroundings.
Had it really spent the entire night sleeping beside Ereshkigal on the cliff?
More surprisingly, the usually lazy goddess—who always delayed getting up—had uncharacteristically left early, slipping away toward Uruk before dawn to dig more tunnels.
As usual, that trip would likely keep her busy all day.
It seemed last night's confrontation had weighed more heavily on her than expected.
Standing at the edge of the cliff, the ancient snake silently looked down at the field of crystalline blossoms scattered below, letting out a soft sigh. A faint guilt stirred in its chest.
In the world he had once lived in, everyone wore masks—sometimes to fool others, sometimes just to deceive themselves.
And in the perilous, fantastical Age of Gods, where survival alone was a struggle, even more masks and lies were necessary to hide one's true self in pursuit of greater goals.
But the ancient snake had always abided by a personal rule:
Deception was only a means, never the end.
If he ever forgot that, then one day he'd either die from the arrogance of manipulating life, or lose all humanity and become a monster who'd sacrifice anything to achieve his ends.
That's why, whenever Ian resorted to deceit, he would always try to make up for it in some other way.
Do a bad thing, then try to do a good one to balance it out. It was his way of keeping the scales even, for peace of mind.
Call it hypocrisy, call it foolishness.
But it was how he remembered that he had once been human.
Smack!
His own tail whipped sharply across the back of his head, snapping him out of his drifting thoughts.
Enough. There was no time left to linger.
The ancient snake sprang from the cliff, weaving through the crystal flower field he had spent over half a year cultivating.
Just as he reached the edge of the ravine, Ian hesitated, then turned back to snatch up a clay tablet lying at the center—marked with "Ere-sama and Samael's 200-Day Anniversary."
Then, his scales slightly parted. Rich Ether particles burst forth, forming thin, thread-like bands around his body, pushing his speed to the limit—turning him into a streak of black lightning tearing through the air.
He had originally wanted to stay by his master's side for a few more days, to say a subtle farewell.
But he hadn't been able to stop himself from trying to sway the Underworld goddess's resolve. And in doing so, he had touched too many buried truths.
Now that even his final attempt had ended in failure, all that remained was for each of them to walk their chosen paths—and see whose answer was worth holding onto.
...
Several minutes later, the familiar black shadow slipped silently into the temple's inner chambers. Curling its tail, it hooked a metallic cage—like a birdcage—from an unguarded compartment.
Seeing the precious tool secured, the ancient snake let out a quiet sigh of relief.
Thankfully, his master had no use for it within the Underworld, so it had been left to gather dust.
And thanks to his natural affinity as a "tool-snake," combined with experience from weaving Spear Cages and occasionally containing ghosts, he at least knew how to use it.
Otherwise, there was no way he could've smuggled out a comrade who had ended up on the wrong side of fate.
After briefly composing himself, the ancient snake carefully placed the commemorative clay tablet on the most conspicuous spot on the temple table.
Then, after a short pause, Ian drew in the gray-black miasma of death, shifting into shadow and slipping away unnoticed.
Snakes are born to conceal and camouflage—and with Ian having spent so long in the Underworld, the terrain was second nature to him. His path to his hidden trove was smooth and undisturbed.
Slithering along cracks in the stone, the black shadow confirmed that the wedge-shaped runes marking the entrance to the hidden valley were still intact—stealth and alarm functions untouched.
Only then did he carefully crawl inside, winding his way deep into the passage.
Finally, at the heart of the cavern, he settled—coiled in relief—surrounded by piles of gold and silver trinkets and scattered clay tablets.
It looked just like a dragon guarding its treasure.
Alright—let's begin.
Time was short. After a brief pause to gather himself, the ancient snake shut his eyes. His consciousness resonated with the anchor line tethered to Tiamat.
Bit by bit, he forcibly extracted the pure-black Beast Authority coiled around the anchor. Slowly, painfully, he tore it apart and crushed it, forcing each shard into his own soul.
The act of jamming a foreign force into his consciousness brought with it an intense, bloated pain unlike anything else.
When the final fragment was fully absorbed by the human-shaped soul, and the command in his mind was given, a solemn, ancient rhythm surged outward—swiftly spreading through the snake's entire body.
Immediately, a red-black mist of blood bloomed and churned around him. All across the snake's form, drastic changes erupted—some parts swelled grotesquely, others collapsed inward.
His reshaping bones cracked and popped like a bag of roasting beans, piercing through flesh and forming the scaffolding of an entirely new frame.
"Ssshh!"
As his body twisted and ground against itself in grotesque ways, scales peeled away with splashes of bloody flesh. Suppressed groans echoed within the cave.
Riiip!
No one knew how much time passed before the eerie sound of tearing cloth cut through the mist—and a pale arm reached out from the thick swirl of red and black.
Then, from within the fog stepped a man—naked, black hair disheveled, his Western facial features finely chiseled with a faint trace of androgynous mystique. He braced himself against the stone wall and staggered forward.
His skin, delicate like that of a newborn, was marked with faint red welts and still streaked with blood and mucus.
In the darkness, his eyes blinked open, revealing a pair of peculiar vertical pupils—snake-like, gleaming bright red like gemstones. Both captivating and dangerous.
His aura was that of poison wrapped in honey—sweetness concealing a fatal edge.
At last… he had the chance to be human again.
The man murmured to himself, reaching up to touch his face and body as he adjusted to the new perspective this form offered.
A wave of relief washed over him.
Fortunately, the facial features had been molded according to the mental model he'd imagined, and the result had turned out just as planned.
Still dizzy with exhilaration, he tried to take a step—but his left leg, still trapped within the swirling red-black mist, tugged against his skin.
Turning to look, he saw a black snakeskin clinging faintly to him.
Time to say goodbye.
He reached for the shed skin, bent over, and tore it off—severing the final tie to his old self. Using the stone wall for balance, he staggered forward, relearning how to walk, trying to quickly restore his body's instinctive human coordination.
As the cold in his limbs gave way to warmth, newly activated neural pathways synced with muscle, bone, and flesh, gradually achieving full alignment.
In the midst of acclimating to his new form, he glanced down at the faint marks still glimmering on the snakeskin, his thoughts drifting.
This transformation was different from the temporary restructuring of a body using Mana. This was a complete, irreversible rebirth.
Even the protective marks Ereshkigal had inscribed onto the snake's skin had been discarded entirely during the process.
Which meant that even if his former master stood right before him, she'd never guess his true identity.
There was simply no other choice.
The snake's former identity was tangled up with too many dark secrets—if any of it were exposed, he'd be the first one thrown into the pot.
Burying the past was a kind of twisted protection for the ones he cared about.
Of course, if Ereshkigal were to see what he looked like now, her embarrassment and rage would probably drive her to boil him alive on the spot.
Which was precisely why he hadn't dared to undergo this transformation until he was ready to leave the Underworld.
As his new body grew increasingly familiar, he put on the clothes he had prepared and packed up most of his treasured items into a bundle.
Whatever he couldn't carry, he destroyed on the spot.
Before leaving, he slit his palm and let a few drops of blood fall onto the snakeskin, leaving his scent behind so his master wouldn't detect his absence—at least not immediately.
The surrounding gray death-energy responded gently to his presence, seamlessly merging with him and completely sealing off the aura of the living world above.
Once everything was set, the man deactivated the wedge-shaped concealment runes, stepped out of the cave, and began walking toward the valley.
...
(40 Chapters Ahead)
p@treon com / PinkSnake