"Is that… a Wicked God monster?"
From the instant its effects appeared—brazenly proclaiming invincibility—there was no way to drive it back head‑on.
So when the black sphere hanging in the night sky suddenly vanished, Miles—for the first time—felt a flicker of relief.
But that relief vanished when he saw the end of the street shrouded by the abyss.
"Eek—!"
Nova must have seen it at the same moment; the youngest among them shrieked in terror.
Kaima ground her teeth, rage twisting her face. "That this could happen… Who did this?!"
At the end of the abyssal street stood a white jade cross glowing faintly in the dark.
However, the holy cross was stained with bright red blood, dripping to the ground.
Kevin Seth's blood.
His hands and feet were nailed to the cross, his body covered in wounds. A massive frozen spike had pierced straight through his abdomen; the gaping wound bled ceaselessly.
"Kevin!"
Miles's ominous premonition had come true. If he had stopped Kevin earlier, this wouldn't have happened.
Everyone except Nova—who stood dumbstruck—rushed forward. Irena, frantic, waved her wand, doing her best to lower Kevin from the cross without harming him further.
The punctures through his limbs were manageable, yet even Irena could do little about the terrible rupture through his abdomen.
"Kevin, stay with me—Kevin!"
Gone was Kaima's habitual severity toward him; she was only an older sister in desperate fear.
"Don't panic, Kaima." Irena forced healing spells—clumsy, however, steady—into the wound. "He's badly hurt, though his life shouldn't be in danger for now. It's just…"
Something was wrong. After several heals in a row, Irena felt it.
Even with imperfect technique, a witch's healing should outclass most hedge magicians.
Albeit the effect was faint—almost no improvement at all.
Healing magic, at bottom, accelerates the body's natural capacity to mend.
Yet the unconscious Kevin seemed to have lost that very capacity—his body showed none of the basic, living instinct to survive.
If the wounds wouldn't close, then even without immediate lethality, he would bleed out.
"This is too strange… why?"
Sweat beaded on Irena's pale brow.
"Save your strength, young witch."
A man's chill voice drifted out from the darkness of the abyssal street, footsteps tapping the stones.
"His source of life has already been taken by my lord. The body left here is nothing but an offering awaiting our god."
"You—!"
The same robe, the same sigil at the chest—though not the same color as Cardinal Yugtos's garments.
"Old Dominators!" Miles, Ren, and Irena spoke in unison.
"Gahahaha—so you can recognize me."
Once recognized, the cultist Hros snapped into a crazed grimace; his 'elegance' lasted a tenth as long as Yugtos's had.
"I am the High Prelate—Hros."
A High Prelate—equal to a cardinal within the Church's ranks, second only to the Pope.
"Since you know me, then you're the ones who killed Yugtos, aren't you? Fate is cruel—killing the only man who matched me. You will compensate my lord."
"A 'source of life'… can that truly be taken?" Irena had seen mention only in obscure tomes.
All things have a source—hope has a source, fear has a source. Even life has a source. To lose it is to lose everything.
"You—did you do this to Kevin?!" Kaima rose, livid. "Taken by the Seth family, and you dared steal it back? Your courage is impressive!"
"The Seth family—gahahaha, so that's it."
Renowned across the realm—the only ducal house—known even to cults far in the west.
"As much as I'd like the credit, his source was taken by my lord, to be an offering. Not my doing."
"Your 'lord'?" Irena reasoned aloud. "Higher than a High Prelate… the Old Dominators' Pope—he's here?!"
"Gahahahaha! You glimpsed my lord's divine might just now."
"Just now…" Miles's eyes widened.
The black sun hanging in the night—that was the Pope's Wicked God. Overwhelming beyond reason. Kevin must have fallen into that sphere.
"Oooh—hahahaha!"
Hros suddenly cackled, features twisting as if witnessing the object of his deepest faith.
"Behold—my lord and my god! Descending again! To fully guide the wandering souls of this town!"
Fully guide the souls. Tonight's twenty‑one chimes, heard even by ordinary folk—the Old Dominators were ready to strike indiscriminately.
Just like the periodic calamities in the western villages Arnold had described.
"The black sun!"
This time, not only Miles, but even Kaima and the others could see it.
A black sun, reflecting a bottomless abyss, hung once more in the sky—now above the clocktower's peak.
In the next moment it might drag the entire city into the depths.
"That thing—It took Kevin!"
"Wait, Kaima!"
Fury overwhelmed her. Ignoring Miles's shout, Kaima drew her card and summoned her riding White Dragon—streaking toward the black sphere atop the distant tower.
"Damn it!" Watching her vanish at lightspeed, Miles felt dread again.
If that black sphere's effects were what he thought, Kaima's White Dragon could never win.
"Idiot—she'll get herself killed. I have to stop her."
Guilt for not stopping Kevin surged. Miles drew Stardust Dragon—he would not let Kaima throw her life away too.
"Did I say you could leave?"
The abyssal street seemed to awaken. Black hands thrust up from the paving stones, clamping around Aisha's slender ankle.
"You reek of a God Card. You're the one who slew Yugtos, aren't you? Then I can't let you disrupt my lord's descent."
Hros crushed the cross at his chest. True Shadow Game darkness spread, sealing them all inside.
"Until fear and the abyss drown this city, you will not disrupt the rite. What Yugtos failed to do, I shall accomplish. Come—wager your God Card and duel!"
With that, a card gleaming with divine darkness sprang from Hros's Deck.
Not [The Wicked Eraser] of Yugtos, nor the Pope's abyssal sphere—but a Wicked God none of them had seen before.
"Under the terror of the Wicked Gods' invincible rule, in this Shadow Duel, you'll fall like that failure over there—and hand over your God Card!"
"You said—'failure'?"
Miles's brow knit tight; a fury equal to Kaima's surged up.
Even so, he forced himself to stay cold.
"Answer me—why Kevin? Even if he lost a duel and you stole his source of life, why torture him like that?"
"Torture?" Hros's bulging eyes rolled. "Gahahaha—you mean the posture of salvation upon the cross? Well? My masterpiece—doesn't it capture the beauty of a wandering soul redeemed?"
"You did it!" Even Ren couldn't hold back her rage.
Miles held her back and pressed on. "Why?"
"Why? Gahahaha—hahahahaha—!"
He threw back his head, laughter echoing through the abyss‑sealed street.
"No reason. I simply thought it was… beautiful."
"I see… I understand."
Miles closed his emerald eyes. He had sensed danger and failed to stop Kevin. The regret crested within him.
Then regret became something else.
"I'm going to kill you."
When his eyes opened again, the killing intent that leapt from them made even the cultist shiver.
"You?" Startled that he, bearer of a god of fear, had flinched, Hros was briefly at a loss. "So it wasn't luck that you beat Yugtos. Though you won't kill me. Yugtos was a trickster—and tricks are for the weak."
Even shaken by that flash of bloodlust, Ren stepped up. "If it's a Shadow Game, then we'll fight together, Miles. I'll help!"
"Stand down, Ren. Don't get in my way."
He took one step forward. The Spirit Eyes on his forearm locked onto its prey in the darkness.
"This is my fight. In this Shadow Game, I'll grind you to nothing—Hros!"
...
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