"Then... then how did Master survive here for twenty-three years?" Jahad asked, his voice quivering. "And how was I able to openly use my powers in Sir Ruk's domain?"
Lord Blasphemy studied him in silence before replying. "First, tell me, what do you know of the Grand War?"
Jahad swallowed and spoke carefully. "I've heard that the true God, Noma, once vibrated existence itself. From those vibrations were born Master Noctis, the Lord of Everything Else; you, Lord Blasphemy, the keeper of Fate; Skya, the Mother of Profoundness and Defilement; and the True Almighty, the Lord of Everything."
He paused, gathering his thoughts. "By their very nature, they clashed. Master Noctis and True Almighty. The reason... I still don't fully comprehend it. In the end, none of them won."
His gaze fell to the ground. "The True Almighty and Master Noctis were banished by Noma's Authority-cast onto two separate planets, across different timelines. Stripped of their dominion, they were tasked with becoming gods all over again."
Jahad's voice grew faint. "And now... as you can see... Master Noctis has died. His body gave out after overdosing on some substance."
He looked up, eyes shaking with desperation. "Which is why... we have to find a way to revive him. Somehow."
Lord Blasphemy burst into manic laughter.
"So... Noctis still knows how to play the game."
He slipped a hand into his pocket, drew out a napkin, and wiped his lips with meticulous care.
When he spoke again, his voice was composed-almost courteous.
"He chose suicide. That leaves me no alternative but to guide you to Skya. Clever, really! He's trying to cheat his way into eternal enlightenment."
A faint pause followed.
"As for Ruk… he would never dare provoke Noctis. To do so would be to provoke Mona herself. And ruk is an amateur god anyways."
Jahad stared at him, horror flooding his face.
"Master used you! Then... does that mean-"
"Relax," Lord Blasphemy cut in lightly. "Don't panic. I'll help you."
He leaned closer, his voice dropping to a whisper.
"For mutual benefit."
He straightened, folding his hands behind his back.
"Noctis intends to reach enlightenment before the True Almighty awakens. As for you..." His gaze sharpened. "You are a divine being, carved directly by Noctis's hand. Your power is absolute. You can nullify any authority, impose your own law, and rewrite reality itself. Simply a weaker version of The True Almighty."
Jahad's breath caught.
"You can even summon the Breathing Abyss," Lord Blasphemy continued, almost amused. "A relic from a very dangerous part of the other worlds, where souls decay endlessly. Remarkable, really." He chuckled. "You already possess a relic. Congratulations."
A pause followed-heavy, deliberate.
Then Lord Blasphemy asked, softly but with unmistakable intent,
"Now tell me... do you know how one becomes a lowercase god?"
"A god? How does one even become a god?" Jahad asked hesitantly. "I… I don't know."
Lord Blasphemy rubbed his forehead, exhaling softly. "Tch. There are several paths."
He began counting them off as they walked. "First-one may fuse oneself with certain divine relics. That is how Ruk ascended. The King of Gods. The Lord of Storm and Thunder."
He continued calmly, as if reciting common knowledge. "Second-by devouring a god's pineal gland. Extremely effective, especially if the gland belongs to me, Noctis, Skya, or the Almighty." A faint smile crossed his lips. "Fortunately, Skya and I rarely manifest in flesh, so we are safe. The Almighty is surely untouchable as well. He has his own ways. And Noctis..." He glanced sideways. "He is under my protection. So don't concern yourself."
They drew closer to the towering fig tree as he spoke again. "The third way is creation. If the four of us-myself, Noctis, Skya, and the Almighty-so desire, we can create life. Even angelic beings."
He stopped walking.
"You," Lord Blasphemy said, his voice suddenly grave, "are a god."
The words struck Jahad like a blade to the chest.
"And don't worry," Lord Blasphemy added lightly as he resumed walking. "You have a few cousins. And perhaps a hundred or two self-made gods-Ruk among them."
Jahad exhaled slowly, the weight of truth settling deep within him.
"I understand now," he said at last, his voice tired, his heart heavy.
As Jahad's words faded, they arrived before the colossal fig tree. Its trunk yawned open, hollowed like a waiting mouth, darkness pooling within.
"Jump," Lord Blasphemy said calmly.
Jahad froze. "W—wait. Why?"
"Skya lives below," Lord replied with a shrug. "Yes, it's rather unappealing—but who cares?"
Jahad hesitated, gripping the edge of his courage. "Wait—wait! Before we jump, let me ask you something." He looked up. "What is my purpose? I know I am Master's servant, and I'm grateful for it... but why did he create me? What was I made to do? I want to know."
Lord Blasphemy studied him for a moment, his expression unreadable.
"Unfortunately for you," he said at last, "I don't have that answer. Only Noctis can give you that truth."
And with that, he shoved Jahad forward.
"Ah—wait!" Jahad screamed as the darkness swallowed him.
A heartbeat later, Lord Blasphemy stepped off the edge and followed him down.
They fell for what felt like half a minute and thirty, perhaps thirty-two seconds, before the descent reversed. Their bodies began to rise, gently this time, until they settled onto a wooden floor. Everything beyond it was forged from basalt and steel, cold and unyielding. And standing before them, embedded in that grim union of stone and metal, loomed a grand door.
The door radiated an eerie presence. The moment their feet touched the ground, black, fleshy slugs began to ooze from the cracks between its panels, writhing as if the door itself were alive.
"Be ready," Lord Blasphemy said calmly. "We're about to sail an ocean."
Jahad stared at him, mouth agape. "W-what? There isn't some kind of shortcut?"
"That old bitch, Skya," Lord Blasphemy muttered with open irritation, "made sure only the truly desperate ever reach her."
Then HE dreamt of a boat.
Reality obeyed.
A vessel shimmered into existence before them. Lord Blasphemy extended his hand toward Jahad. "Come. Once that door opens, this sluggish water will flood the space."
Jahad hesitated only a moment before taking his hand and climbing aboard.
The instant his foot touched the deck, Lord Blasphemy spoke in a low, reverent voice:
"O Mother of Love and Disgust,
moon-soft in mercy,
sovereign of the wild and the dreadful,
Mother of profanity.
Divine inheritor of all that festers and flourishes,
Goddess of beauty and deformity,
of playful cruelty and aching gentleness...
Turn your gaze and heed your devotee's cry."
The moment Lord Blasphemy finished his chant, the metallic door peeled open...
And then everything vanished.
The tree above their heads dissolved first, followed by the wooden floor beneath their feet, and finally the door itself, as though reality were being erased layer by layer.
In its place stretched a vast black ocean, not of water, but of some thick, sluggish substance that barely rippled, as if reluctant to move at all.
Without a touch or a command, the boat began to drift forward on its own.
"How long until we meet Lady Skya?" Jahad asked, trying to sound casual.
"A minute... or a month," Lord Blasphemy replied. "Depends on her mood."
"A month?!" Jahad blurted out.
At that exact moment, something settled on the boat's roof.
A translucent squid hovered there, enormous and weightless. It had no wings, no visible means of flight, yet it floated serenely in the air, like a living hot-air balloon. With every slow pulse of its body, its colors shifted-blue, then red, then violet, then hues unnamed.