Lilim's POV
Lilim trembled where she stood, torn between two impossible choices — to obey her Master's command not to kill without his permission and keep her divinity suppressed, or to release it and search for him, knowing full well the consequences that would follow.
If she released her suppression, her unrestrained power would tear this fragile mortal realm apart — the entire planet together with the realm would cease to exist.
Her thoughts spiraled like a storm inside her mind. What should I do? Every second without Atlas's presence gnawed at her sanity. Her instincts screamed at her to find him, but her Master's order echoed louder, weighing on her divine conscience like chains forged by loyalty itself.
After what felt like an eternity of tormenting indecision, she clenched her fists, her nails digging into her palms until blood dripped onto the ruined floor. Her heart throbbed painfully — no, not from fear, but from love and devotion.
Finally, she came to a decision. Master comes first. No punishment could compare to the pain of not knowing whether he was safe.
Her expression hardened with resolve. "Forgive me, Master… but I can't stay idle while you're gone."
But just as she was about to release her suppression — a wave of agony tore through her.
"AHHHHH!"
A blood-curdling scream ripped from her throat as she fell to her knees, clutching her face. Her veins bulged, glowing faintly as her blood began to boil under her skin. The pain was unbearable — it was as though her very essence was being set ablaze from the inside out.
The agony spread rapidly, consuming her entire being until her body convulsed uncontrollably. The force of her suffering shattered her restraint — her divinity erupted outward instinctively, no longer contained.
The air split apart. The world itself began to tremble.
The mall floor cracked beneath her as divine energy radiated in every direction. Within moments, the ground quaked violently — buildings collapsed, cities shattered. The Earth's crust screamed under the pressure.
Her released divinity reached deep into the planet's core — and broke it.
The core fractured, then split completely, releasing catastrophic energy that cascaded through the mantle and the surface. Massive fissures tore through continents, swallowing oceans and mountain ranges alike. Volcanoes erupted all at once, their molten fury consuming everything.
A chain reaction of destruction followed — earthquakes, tidal waves, volcanic eruptions — an apocalypse born from a goddess's agony.
But Lilim didn't see any of it. She was writhing on the ground, her screams echoing across what remained of the dying world. The pain was endless, a torment that pierced both body and soul.
And then she heard it — a voice.
No, not a voice. It wasn't sound. It was inside her.
"Help me… help me… help me…"
The words repeated endlessly, desperate and raw.
Her eyes widened in horror. That voice — it wasn't hers.
It was his.
"Master?" she gasped, clutching her head as the voice grew louder, more distorted, more frantic.
"Help me, help me, help me," it echoed again — but it wasn't coming from her mind. It was deeper. Darker.
Her blood pulsed violently in her veins, glowing faintly crimson, and she realized the truth — it wasn't her mind screaming those words.
It was her blood.
Her blood had taken control, forcing her thoughts into a maddening loop. The connection between her and Atlas had gone berserk — his agony resonating through her essence, twisting her sanity.
"HELP ME!" the final scream echoed in her mind, and Lilim's body convulsed one last time before the world fell silent — leaving only ruin, and a goddess on her knees, drowning in pain and blood-born madness.
Luminaria's POV
Luminaria sat behind her massive desk, the faint golden glow of her domain reflecting off the endless stacks of documents piled high before her. Her eyes narrowed at the latest scroll — another demand from Fate.
"That woman…" she muttered, her voice dripping with irritation.
Her fingers brushed through her blonde hair as she reached for another parchment, ready to sign it with divine indifference — when suddenly, an unfamiliar heat began to rise across her face.
At first, it was faint — a subtle sting under her skin, like a burn she couldn't see. But within seconds, it intensified.
Her eyes widened. "W–What… what is this?"
The pain deepened, burrowing beneath her flesh, crawling through her veins like liquid fire. Her chair screeched against the marble floor as she clutched her face.
"AHHHH!"
Her scream echoed through her luminous office, shattering her two lamps. The chair toppled over with a crash, forgotten, as her body convulsed violently on the floor.
It wasn't physical pain — it was blood-deep, the kind that reached beyond flesh and into divinity itself. Her essence writhed, twisting as though something inside her was being torn apart.
Her breath came in ragged gasps. "This… pain… what… is this…?"
The radiant golden light of her domain flickered and dimmed, responding to her turmoil. Documents scattered into the air, dissolving into motes of light. Luminaria's trembling fingers clawed at the floor, trying to ground herself, but it was useless — the agony surged stronger with every passing heartbeat.
Then, amidst the chaos of her mind, a voice echoed.
Soft at first. Familiar. Terrifyingly familiar.
"Help me… help me… help me…"
Her eyes snapped open, pupils dilating in shock.
"Master?" she whispered, disbelief and dread intertwining in her tone.
The voice came again — louder, more desperate, more distorted — repeating those same words, over and over.
Her blood felt like molten gold, boiling within her veins. She could hear it, whispering in his voice.
"Help me… help me…"
The words weren't echoing in her mind — no, they resonated through her blood. Through her very being.
Luminaria clutched her head, her nails digging into her scalp as bloody crimson tears streamed down her face. Her entire body trembled as realization struck her like a thunderbolt.
This isn't pain… it's a connection.
Something had happened to Atlas — something severe enough to tear through every boundary that separated their essences. The pain she felt wasn't hers. It was his.
"Master… what did you do?" she whispered, her voice breaking between ragged breaths.
The office around her collapsed into chaos — the radiant walls pulsing erratically, reacting to her distress.
And amidst it all, the voice didn't stop.
It couldn't stop.
Over and over, in that same tormented tone — her name, her curse, her undoing.
"Help me… help me… help me…"
Selphira's POV
Selphira sat like a queen in her temple's grand pope chamber — the sanctum that served both as a place of worship and as her throne room.
She was draped across a magnificent pope's chair, though it bore little resemblance to what one might expect of a religious seat; no, it looked far more like a monarch's throne — towering, gilded, and exuding authority.
At her feet, hidden within her shadows, stood Selindra — her most precious acquisition since Atlas's escape. The faint shimmer of Selindra's outline flickered within the darkness like a reflection on still water, ever vigilant, ever loyal.
Before Selphira, a prince knelt with trembling reverence. His gilded armor gleamed in the soft candlelight, yet his posture was that of a broken man before a Queen.
"Pope Vaeltharis," the prince began, his tone laced with forced humility, "the King wishes to know whether you will support him in the upcoming war with the Utherius Kingdom?"
Selphira's gaze lingered on him — unblinking, intense, predatory. Then, slowly, a dangerous smile curved across her crimson lips.
"Your father really doesn't respect me, does he?" she said, her voice smooth yet saturated with venom.
The prince's eyes widened in panic. "N–No, of course not, Your Holiness! What makes you say that?" he stammered, speaking far too quickly, betraying his terror.
Selphira leaned forward slightly, resting her chin upon the back of her hand, her eyes glinting with cruel amusement. "Well," she said softly, "if he truly respected me… he would have come here himself. If he truly wished for my presence in this war of his, then he should be the one kneeling before me — not his offspring."
Her words slithered like venom into the prince's ears, and he trembled, sweat trickling down his temples.
"Or maybe…" she continued, her voice turning deceptively sweet, "is he using you as an offering?"
The prince's face went pale. His lips quivered, but no words came out — and then, humiliation struck him like a curse. His body betrayed him; warm liquid pooled beneath him as he wet himself before the Pope of Blood.
Selphira's eyes widened slightly, and then — she laughed.
The sound echoed throughout the chamber, dark and musical, yet carrying a terrifying undertone. "You! You dare to soil my temple!" she hissed.
"I–I'm sorry!" the prince cried, falling flat on his hands, shaking uncontrollably. But the more he apologized, the worse it became — his trembling grew, his body completely overtaken by fear.
"Hahahahaha!" Selphira threw her head back, laughing uncontrollably. "Oh, you poor fool. I'm simply joking, Prince," she said between fits of laughter, her tone dripping with mockery.
As her laughter subsided, she waved her hand dismissively. "Tell your father I'll be there. He and I are… great pals, after all," she said in a tone that was deceptively soft — almost playful. Then her eyes sharpened again, her voice dipping back into menace.
"Now leave," she said coldly, "before I decide to make a eunuch out of you for wetting my floor."
The prince didn't need to be told twice. He scrambled to his feet and bolted from the chamber, nearly tripping over his own robes in the process.
When the doors finally slammed shut behind him, silence returned to the room — save for the faint hum of power radiating from Selphira's throne.
Selindra stepped out from the shadows, her form coalescing beside her mistress. She knelt silently, her eyes lowered.
But before Selphira could speak, her expression twisted in shock. A burning pain erupted across her face — faint at first, then rapidly spreading like wildfire beneath her skin.
Her back arched against the throne, her hands clawing at her own flesh. "Wh—what… is this?" she gasped.
The pain intensified, searing through her veins, boiling her blood.
"AHHHHH!" Selphira screamed, the sound echoing through the sacred chamber, shattering the stained glass windows. The air around her warped and darkened, rippling like liquid shadow.
Selindra rushed forward instinctively — but before she could reach her, she too felt the same agony. Her knees buckled, and she collapsed, clutching her chest. "AHHHH!" she screamed, her voice trembling with agony.
The chamber quaked violently under the pressure of their combined power, the holy symbols on the walls melting into black ichor.
And then — within their minds, a voice.
"Help me… help me… help me…"
The same words repeated endlessly, not in their thoughts, but inside their very blood.
Selphira's wide, tear-streaked eyes lifted as she recognized the voice — faint, distant, familiarity.
Selindra, writhing on the floor, also heard the same voice — but to her, it was foreign, alien, impossible to place.
Still, both of them screamed, their cries drowned by the chorus of countless others.
—Across the mortal realm, every soul that had once drunk Atlas's blood felt the same excruciating torment.
They clutched their faces, fell to their knees, and screamed into the void as that same haunting voice echoed through their veins.
"Help me… help me… help me…"
A single plea — repeated endlessly — from the Deity whose blood bound them all. The voice reverberated through every living cell of their being, echoing in their veins, their bones, their very souls.
And then, one by one, they began to respond.
"I'll help… just please, stop…"
At first, it was whispered in desperation — the words of the tormented, the broken, those clawing at their own skin to escape the pain. But as more voices joined, their desperate murmurs began to synchronize, forming a chant that rippled across the mortal realm.
"I'll help… I'll help… I'll help…"
The agony persisted, burning deeper, reshaping their cries into something far darker — devotion. What began as a plea for relief turned into something sacred and dreadful, a form of worship born from unbearable suffering.
They thought their words would bring mercy. They thought their surrender would make the pain cease. Yet none of them truly understood the weight of what they were saying.
Only if they knew what it meant to say they'd help.
For in uttering those words, they had not calmed the Deity's anguish — they had answered His call.
And through their submission, they had unknowingly offered themselves to Him — body, mind, and soul — binding their fate even tighter to Atlas whose blood flowed within them.