Kill!!
The fury boiling in Saikyō Aiko's heart bled through the god's control—its pulse merging with Taisu's own boundless pleasure.
He couldn't help himself.
He laughed.
The moment was too absurd, too delightfully grotesque.
Even an evil god had to appreciate comedy when it presented itself this perfectly.
Wrapped in the skin of Saikyō Aiko, Taisu spread his arms wide and exclaimed:
"Rejoice, you fools!"
"Your little performance has deeply amused the Great God! I should slaughter every one of you outright—but as a mercy, I'll count to ten. Anyone who leaves this hall before then, I'll let live."
He hadn't even finished the sentence when several burly men rushed the aisle toward him.
They were the cult's elite guards—the first pawns sent to test the threat he posed.
The carnage outside had come too suddenly, too fast; in barely three minutes, the compound had turned into a vision of hell. The faithful inside still didn't understand what had happened.
Some sensed something was wrong. But under the High Priest's command, they'd finished their hymn—rousing that old cult-bred confidence.
The delusion of safety.
When enough cockroaches gather, even insects imagine themselves invincible.
A curious phenomenon—mortals clinging to illusions even with death hovering centimeters away. And their leader, that bloated charlatan atop the altar, still maintained his air of serene divinity—fully believing himself above consequence.
His faith rested on numbers—his horde of worshippers, his devoted enforcers.
Strong men, visibly trained, rumored to have received the cult's "Divine Blessing," each allegedly capable of subduing ten sumo wrestlers alone.
They rushed forward now, faces bright with fury and base desire—
If they could capture Aiko, they'd begin the "Rite of Service" immediately.
The hunger in their eyes betrayed their real intent.
They roared, charging.
"Heretic—receive divine—"
BANG!
They died.
Taisu, holding the pale handgun like a toy, shot two clean through the head before they finished the word.
The others froze—mouths half-open, minds struggling to catch up.
He fired again.
BANG. BANG. BANG.
Three more fell.
One managed to turn, just before collapsing, to look back at the "High Priest" who'd promised him eternal life.
The disbelief in his fading eyes was almost poetic.
The final two guards panicked, shoving their way toward the crowd.
BANG. BANG.
Two wet pops of rupture.
Heads blossomed like overripe fruit, red and white splashing across the screaming congregation.
The air filled with gasps, retching—the scent of iron and gunpowder blending into something primal. Fear rippled through the chamber.
Taisu tilted his head, smiling lazily.
"Foolish worms always rush eagerly to their deaths. I trust the rest of you are wise enough to learn from their example."
He raised the pistol playfully.
"I'll count to ten. Let's call it your countdown to survival."
"Ten… nine… eight… seven…"
He grinned. "Time's about up."
One man snapped first. Head low, trembling, he ran for the aisle, bowing repeatedly in apology as he passed. Sweat streamed down his face like rain.
Taisu nodded at him. The man's expression shifted instantly to hope—he ran harder, toward the exit.
That was all it took.
The rest broke rank, chaos flooding the hall as they bolted in a mad stampede.
Then, in the blink of an eye, a silver flash.
A streak of cold steel—
And the first man's head tumbled from his shoulders, spinning across the floor.
Blood arced through the air.
With a languid twist of his body, Taisu turned, slicing again—another series of graceful motions—and more heads went flying.
The decapitated bodies kept running for several blind steps before finally collapsing toward the door.
Spattered with blood, Taisu chuckled, soft and almost cheerful.
"You actually ran?"
He wiped at his cheek with mock surprise.
"I was only joking. You really believed me?"
His grin widened.
"If you'd just stayed put, it all would've gone so smoothly. I could've killed you all neatly—cleanly! It would've proved your devotion, your fearlessness—and my generosity."
He sighed theatrically. "But nooo, someone had to ruin it for everyone."
The air in the chapel tightened like a noose.
The remaining believers trembled; panic and dread warped the edges of sanity.
Finally, the figure on the dais—the High Priest himself—moved at last.
His round, glistening face stretched into a benevolent smile. Spreading his arms in mock sanctity, he spoke in a voice rich, warm, and magnetic.
"My child, all of us stand here before you," he said softly. "You may take our lives at any moment."
"Our souls will return to Paradise—to where we truly belong. But tell me, child… what will you gain from this?"
His words dripped patience, fatherly pity.
"You'll gain nothing but emptiness.
What meaning is there in harming yourself this way? I cannot bear to see you stray from salvation."
"Here, every one of us can be your friend, your family. We can share everything—every part of ourselves. Isn't that what you truly need?"
"We only wish to bring you joy, Aiko-chan. That is why we're here."
"Come to us. Let us embrace you.
You don't need to struggle anymore.
Forget your past obsessions—start anew, as one reborn…"
The congregation lifted their eyes to her, faces full of false tenderness, glowing with sincerity that reeked of deceit.
Then, softly, the hymn began again.
The same sweet, tranquil melody—rising together, carrying the priest's words to a fevered pitch of false divinity.
The air shimmered with light, as if Heaven itself were watching.
BLAM!
Gunfire exploded like thunder.
The High Priest's words stopped mid-note. His eyes widened—bulging.
A gaping red crater blossomed in the center of his massive belly. Blood, bile, and intestine rained across the altar.
He toppled backward, mouth flapping like a dying toad before twitching once—and falling still.
Off to Hell with him.
Taisu looked almost bored.
He had expected the largest clown to grant him a moment of amusement.
But even that had been a disappointment.
And as expected, the so-called High Priest of the "Almighty God" turned out to be nothing more than a common fraud.
Yawning delicately with Aiko's lips, Taisu stretched, her crimson eyes narrowing, lashes fluttering like a pleased cat.
"One," he said, voice sultry, "this girl is already mine. She's having the time of her life. She doesn't need your worthless promises of family."
"Two…"
He smiled wider.
"You are not a beautiful girl. Therefore, you are unworthy of speech."
That was Taisu's logic—twisted, self-serving, perfect in its own right.
He had no interest in truth, no mission of righteousness. He existed for one thing only: pleasure.
And pulling the trigger on a pompous hypocrite was far more pleasurable than arguing philosophy.
But he wasn't done yet.
There were still so many delightful things to do.
Scanning the hall, he watched as realization struck the believers.
Their "divine" leader lay dead—his soul neither ascended nor transfigured. No heavenly sign came. No miracle answered their panic.
For one frozen heartbeat, silence ruled.
Then chaos erupted.
Screams. Panic. Prayers dissolving into sobs. Bodies crashing into one another.
Taisu smiled through Aiko's blood-slick lips.
"Cry.
Scream.
Then—
die."