The necromancer suddenly stopped talking. His remaining eye darted around. He saw them, the faceless souls standing in utter silence, surrounding him and me like spectators in a theater of death.
Then something inside him snapped.
His laughter burst out—raw, broken, deranged. A jagged sound that carved through the stillness of the night.
"Khe… hehehe… Hahahahahahaha! AHAHAHAHAHA!"
"Look! Look at them!" he screamed. "They're waiting for you! All of them are here to drag you to hell, Smiling Knight! You think you've won? You're just—"
Crack.
My fist slammed into his mouth, crushing his jaw. Bone cracked, something splintered, and when I pulled my fist back, the remnants of his teeth scattered across his torn lips and the dirt beneath him. He choked, a wet gurgle spilling out, followed by a long, trembling groan.
"Shut up," I said.
He writhed, his body convulsing weakly. Beneath the agony twisting his features, a single question pounded in his mind: Why? The ritual was complete, the five hundred lives had been offered, blood had drenched the earth. So where? WHERE was the Angel?
I ignored his wheezing and incoherent mutters. Something far more urgent now clawed for my attention.
"One last thing," I said, staring into his eyes. "What exactly did you do? What was the purpose of this finished ritual?"
He opened his shattered mouth, maybe to curse again, maybe to answer with whatever arrogance he had left. But before a single word could escape—
Thump.
The sound came from the ground. From the pitch-black object lying beside his severed hand.
Thump.
Like the heartbeat of something colossal buried beneath the earth, the vibration rippled through the soil, up through the sole of my boot pinning his chest, crawling into my shin, my thigh, and settling like a cold nail in my gut.
Thump. Thump.
The beats quickened. Not just sound, each pulse radiated a wave of… something. Not wind, but a freezing touch that stabbed straight into the marrow. Goosebumps broke out all over my skin. My heart hammered in response.
"What is that?" I asked, louder than I realized, trying to cut over the pounding growing almost deafening.
The necromancer strained his neck, barely lifting his head. He looked at the flat, pulsating object—beating like a living organ. And beneath his ragged breaths, a twisted smile crawled across his ruined face.
"Nightheart…" he rasped, the word bubbling like a drowning man. "The Heart of Night… It's… awakening… He is coming… finally… coming for me…" His laughter returned—weak, broken, bitter. "Heh… hehe… Look… Knight… Heaven… will soon—"
THUMP! THUMP! THUMP! THUMP!
The beats exploded into a rapid vibration, merging into a low, continuous hum. The object shook uncontrollably. The air around it began to crack. Reality itself seemed to peel, wrinkle, and split open.
I stood instantly, drawing my sword. Every instinct I'd honed through a hundred battlefields screamed—louder than ever.
But the warning came too late.
Nightheart hissed sharply, like high-pressure steam erupting, and then…
A soft light washed over me.
Warm, golden light poured from a sky of perfect blue, unmarred by a single cloud.
I stood, yet no longer on mud and blood. Beneath me stretched emerald grass, fresh and soft. Wisps of thin cloud drifted low, brushing around my legs, dancing in a gentle breeze that carried the scent of flowers and damp earth.
In the distance, the murmur of flowing water.
I looked around. The wasteland of corpses, weeds, and darkness was gone.
Then I saw them.
The souls.
The same hollow figures that once surrounded me. Still here, but their glow had changed. No longer the cold shimmer of moonlight, but warm golden radiance matching the sky above. They no longer stared at me. Their faceless heads tilted upward toward the clear blue heavens.
And then, one by one, they began to rise.
They floated gently, as if lifted by something soft yet irresistible.
The necromancer lurched to his feet, ignoring the blood still pouring from his wounds. His lone eye locked onto the sound of running water in the distance. Then, suddenly, he bolted.
My legs moved before my mind could think. Why? I didn't know. Maybe because in this strange world, he was the only clue I had. We sprinted across rolling hills, tearing through white fog that kissed cold and damp against the skin.
When the mist parted, my breath caught.
A cathedral. White, vast, carved from marble—or something like it—that glowed faintly on its own. It didn't stand on the ground but hovered in the air, held up by… nothing. Only clouds gathered around it like faithful servants. Its tall glass windows caught the perfect sky and threw the light back like shards of heaven.
Beside it flowed a river so clear it looked like liquid glass, mirroring the cathedral's majesty.
And at the river's edge stood a man.
Or… something resembling a man.
His body was wrapped in pure white radiance—blinding yet gentle. He was tall, humanoid, with large wings folded behind him, wings forged from solid light. His face was impossible to see, veiled in brilliance, yet I felt a serenity radiate from him.
The necromancer instantly collapsed into a deep bow, pressing his face into the grass. His whole body shook, not from fear of me, but from worship, from frantic, hysterical hope.
The luminous figure slowly turned toward us. Even without visible eyes, I felt his gaze settle on me and the necromancer. Then he spoke, and the sound was soft, melodic, and impossibly deep, so deep it resonated in my ribs.
"I can see and hear your hopes… to be saved, forgiven, and freed from suffering."
He paused, as though focusing.
And then I felt it—a warm, invisible spotlight sweeping over my skin, peeling back layers, looking inside.
"Especially you," he said, and I knew—without doubt—that he meant me. "Both your body and your soul… are filled with terrible wounds."
The words struck like a blunt blow to the sternum. Not a threat. Not pity. A simple, unflinching truth of every scar and every memory gnawing inside me. Something within me—a fortress I'd held together for years—cracked.
Warmth slid down my cheek. Tears. Dripping slowly over old scars.
Before I could react, the radiant figure moved. Suddenly he stood right before me, impossibly close. A hand of condensed light rose, and with extraordinary gentleness, brushed my tear away.
The touch… warm. So warm. A warmth I hadn't felt in years.
But my instincts surged. Violence, suspicion, betrayal—the things I'd lived on—burst inside me.
Move!
My hand slapped his away. I leapt back, sword half-raised, breath suddenly heavy.
"What are you?" I growled, trying to bury the storm he had stirred in me.
He only smiled. The expression, though obscured, rippled through his radiance. Somehow, the smile eased part of the tension coiled in my chest and shoulders.
Up close, I finally saw what his blinding glow had hidden. His radiant body… wasn't perfect. Thin cracks lined it, like fractured glass still holding together. Light spilled from the edges, but behind the cracks was… nothing. Pitch-black void, a darkness deeper than night.
While I studied him, the necromancer rose. His battered face shone with blind, feverish devotion.
"O Seraph of Salvation! Pure Light!" he croaked, voice hoarse yet fervent. "Grant Your humble servant the salvation You promised! I have done everything! The ritual, the offerings… all for You!"
The Seraph turned to him with a calm, judgmentless gaze.
"What salvation do you seek," he asked softly, "in exchange for the hundreds of lives you sacrificed? Forgiveness for what sin, when you felt no remorse as you flooded the earth with blood? Or do you seek freedom from suffering… after creating so much suffering yourself?"
The necromancer froze, then the words burst out of him, uncorked like a long-suppressed scream.
"Salvation from this weakness! I want to be forgiven… forgiven for being born so fragile, so easily hurt! Every day is agony! Mocked for my thin body, for my uselessness with a sword, I'm sick of it! I want out! I want strength! Real strength that makes them fear me, that makes them never dare belittle me again! Strength so I never feel pain again, so I never become prey again! That is my hope! I did all of this…" He stared at his severed hand, then at me with hatred.
"…to break free from the chains of this weak human form!"
His voice echoed across the quiet green fields—selfish, bare, and tragically honest.
The Seraph nodded slowly, as if he understood perfectly. "So… you seek forgiveness for your weakness by becoming strong. You seek freedom from human suffering… by ceasing to be human."
"Yes!" the necromancer cried, eyes shining with madness and hope.
"A fascinating request," the Seraph whispered.
Then, without warning, it happened.
The necromancer's body began trembling. He screamed, but his scream warped, twisting into something inhuman, like metal shrieking as it's bent beyond its limit.
His bones crackled, stretching, lengthening. His neck elongated like a serpent, extending several meters as his head distorted. His jaw split, widening into a maw filled with layers upon layers of razor-sharp teeth like a nightmare sea predator.
And that was only the beginning.
From his stretching, mutating flesh, bulges formed—expanding into new arms, thin and long, tipped with clawed fingers. New legs sprouted from his waist and even his neck, stamping the ground with unnatural rhythm.
In seconds, he transformed from a frail, injured man into a towering abomination—its body crawling with dozens of writhing arms and legs, its long serpent-like neck weaving through the air while the monstrous head at its end released a hoarse, delirious laughter.
"POWER! THIS IS IT! I CAN FEEL IT! I'M FREE!" the monster bellowed, its voice echoing from multiple directions.
I watched the grotesque transformation, then turned my gaze toward the radiant being who still stood tranquil, untouched by the horror unfolding before us.
My grip tightened on my sword. Whatever gentleness I had felt earlier evaporated, replaced by seething disgust. I pointed my blade at the glowing entity, my voice cold and defiant.
"Salvation? Is that what you call this?" I spat. "You just turned him into an even worse monster!"