Miracles and magic never come free.
Neither does the power of a god—least of all an evil one.
Transformation granted a colossal body and the might of a giant, but the energy sustaining Taisu's manifestation was far from infinite.
Deep inside that monstrous shell, Saikyō Aiko's own raging emotions—her grief, hatred, and ecstasy—all burned as fuel for Taisu's strength.
Her mind was the engine, and Taisu was driving it to detonation.
Her consciousness was being mined, scraped bare, and overclocked like a machine overheating under impossible load.
At such intensity, even a demon of lust would have long since shattered.
And yet… she was just an ordinary high school girl—pure, fragile, human.
Only the twin flames of her vengeance and bitter euphoria kept her from slipping into unconsciousness.
While Taisu rampaged through slaughter, the "divine engine" inside Aiko screamed. Her eyes rolled back, her mind went shock-white, and her head felt ready to burst into steam.
Her face slackened. A thin line of blood ran from her nose.
She could no longer speak, no longer plead. Only ragged, breathless sighs escaped her lips.
Were it not for Taisu's earlier reconstruction of her body, she would have already drowned in his black ichor.
I'm… already in heaven, her fading mind whispered.
"Hm. The transformation girl's getting worn out already? Figures. A rushed build will never last under such exquisite strain…"
Taisu muttered idly as he turned a pistol in his hands—his latest trophy from a corpse.
As Aiko's consciousness slipped, the black giant's form began to fracture. The dark armor steamed and melted, its structure collapsing inward.
"Only three minutes of transformation time? Pathetic. Saikyō Aiko, you're still such a small fry… you're practically smoking."
He chuckled, calculating his next steps.
First, he'd need to refine her—develop the vessel further. Strengthen her nerves, deepen her endurance. The more stimulation she could withstand, the more output Taisu could draw; the greater the surge, the taller, stronger, and more perfect the giant he could manifest from her.
And next, of course—he needed more batteries.
More girls.
More beautiful girls—each unique, each capable of producing different transformations and powers depending on their "individual traits."
A blind box of pain and delight—how could he resist?
But the most important part was simple enough.
He, Taisu the Evil God, just liked beautiful girls!
Always had.
It might sound disarmingly honest for an evil god, almost simple-minded. But who could possibly object?
Certainly not the girls.
Look at Saikyō Aiko—she wasn't even complaining.
A perfect pair, born for each other. Willing victim, eager god.
And as for the dead—well, who was left to protest?
With no objections to hinder him, Taisu could indulge freely.
Now, folding the giant's shadowy body back into liquid form, he poured himself into Aiko's frame once again, seeping into every trembling nerve and reclaiming control from her half-burned consciousness.
A new creature stood up from the carnage—a monster wearing a girl's skin.
Aiko's body was drenched in viscous black fluid, slick and steaming, as though she'd just crawled out of some obscene infernal ritual.
Moving her limbs with casual ease, Taisu flexed her shoulders and exhaled.
"So weak, so fragile. Really, Aiko—you should start training your body.
How can you hope to bear my blessings like this?"
He rolled her shoulders, swinging a lazy punch through the air.
BOOM—!
The air cracked with thunder. Seams split.
Her worn clothes tore apart under the sheer force of movement.
"Ugh, pitiful old rags," Taisu sniffed. "Washed too many times, far too tight. Beyond saving."
Without hesitation, he tore them open.
Beneath, instead of bare skin, gleamed a jet-black bodysuit—slick and reflective, hugging every contour of her body.
Yes—Taisu had reformed his own flesh into clothing, molding it flawlessly to the girl's skin.
The glossy latex shimmered with crimson streaks that traced her frame from neck to toes. The effect was striking—sinisterly elegant, almost erotic.
Had Aiko been healthier, the curves beneath would have exuded danger and allure. Had she been fuller, the suit would have tightened sensually around her shape, confining her beauty like silk over flame.
But Aiko's malnourished body made her appear fragile, almost pitiable. The suit accentuated that frailty rather than hiding it.
Taisu frowned fondly. We'll have to fix that.
He resolved to brew a special nutrient solution—rich, thick, divine—to fill this starved vessel properly.
After all, a girl her age still needed to grow.
The thought made the god downright cheerful. Still smiling, he guided her body—one hand clasping the pistol, the other lifting a katana from the bloodied floor.
Then he whistled a jaunty tune and strode toward his next destination.
The cult's heart—the Grand Chapel—stood before him.
Whistling turned to humming as Taisu pushed open the great doors.
The stench of blood wafted out like heat from a furnace.
Beyond it lay a scene of annihilation—limbs, organs, puddles of shredded flesh.
Hell, painted red.
And stepping through those doors, Taisu passed from one hell into another.
"On a street veiled in mist, I wander alone?
My heart confused, suffocating in endless night?
In every corner, doubts like whispers hide?
Every voice hums sorrow beneath the light?"
Taisu froze.
Inside the chapel, a song echoed—soft, haunting, beautiful.
Bathed in beams of white sunlight, the cult's believers swayed in rhythm, dressed in pure white robes.
They sang with reverence, their eyes half-closed, voices rising in unison in a hymn of longing.
At the forefront stood a man with a bald head and a round belly—his expression benevolent, his aura sanctimonious.
He resembled every deceitful "fatherly" figure in twisted children's books.
As he hummed along, his gaze swept lovingly over the congregation below.
This must be their exalted leader—the High Priest.
"The soul trembles in the fog of doubt?
Yet I seek that fleeting light?
The road ahead is endless, but I press on?
For salvation lies not far from sight?"
The hymn swelled, solemn and radiant, echoing like false heaven. Its melody seemed powerful enough to stir emotion, even truth.
They had no idea.
Just beyond the doors, paradise ended, and Hell began.
Between their sacred song and the nightmare outside lay only one step.
Taisu listened quietly—and came to an epiphany.
I haven't killed enough.
Not nearly enough.
A problem clearly in need of correction.
"The soul trembles in the fog of doubt?
But I have found that radiant light?
It warms my heart and guides my soul?
And now, I'll never be lost again~~~"
As the final note rang out, every believer turned—mechanically, as one—to face the intruder.
Their blank, mannequin faces reflected the light like wax.
For an instant, it was unclear who the true monster was—the god wearing Saikyō Aiko's skin, or these worshippers, empty-eyed and serene.
Silence fell like a blade.
Among them, near the altar, knelt a lone woman—a striking figure beside the priest.
Beautiful, eerily young for her age, her features bore a chilling resemblance to Aiko's.
Her mother.
The one Aiko had come to hate beyond words.
The woman who had thrown her own daughter into the cult's jaws—and called it salvation.
She looked up at Aiko now with a gentle, teary smile, radiating warmth and concern that cut through the tension like a poisoned lullaby.
Her voice trembled with tender affection.
"Aiko… my sweet Aiko, come to me."
"If you complete the rite of service—if you offer yourself to our Savior—you'll be freed from pain. You'll live in eternal bliss within Paradise…"
"Come, my child. Don't be like your father, so stubborn in sin.
Come—under the Lord's guidance, your mother has already been reborn.
I've never felt such happiness~"
She smiled, radiant and delirious, her expression softening as she turned toward the greasy High Priest beside her. For a fleeting moment, she looked as though she were a girl again, lost in first love.
Inside Aiko's mind—no, inside their shared body—something ignited.
The emotion surged up, vast and unstoppable, like a tidal wave.
It tore her straight out of her fugue and slammed her back into consciousness.
Even Taisu paused, wordless, as the storm gathered.
That feeling was so immense, so pure, it nearly moved even a god.
A warmth, terrible and beautiful, filled her chest.
It was—
Murderous intent.
Raging, boundless, holy killing intent.
"Kill… kill… kill them all—kill them ALL!"
Within that single thought burned their unity—girl and god—melding in perfect wrath.
Hell had just begun to answer Heaven's song.