The words hits her like a punch to the gut. Her body froze, she run her palms through her face, trembling, her knees buckled. The realization dawned like she has been hit by a truck. She hadn't escaped at all.
It's like all of the remaining life has been sapped away from her. A sinking, heavy despair settled inside her like a shroud. Her eyes fixed blankly on the cold marble floor, her mind numb and exhausted.
She wanted to cry. She needed to cry. But no matter how shitty she felt the tears refused to come. She had cried them all out during her first 30 deaths.
She had pleaded, begged, screamed in pain so fierce that her soul had been desensitized. Now, all she could do was stare blankly at the screen, her mind hollow. She can't even gather the strength to stand up, her legs are jelly.
Inside her, Saoirse finally understood why the God of War had conceded, even if it meant waiting five extra years before another tester could be chosen, as the punishment.
It knows that if she used up her fifty chances, she'd perish—alone, unlamented, and utterly erased from existence. Everyone would move on from their life.
She knew it.
The world would still spin without her, but the thought that she can never return to the old life she worked so hard for, that she will have no second chances after that one was gnawing at her.
That was a single act of mercy from him, it might also be a gift. 'But what good was it now?'
While it's true that she could stay in the "temporary" room, indefinitely. It doesn't change the fact that she might wait there forever.
She had to wait until some God picked her—if they ever did. But what were her odds? Slim to none. A 'tester' with only one chance left? Nearly impossible. Even with half her chances remaining, her chances of success were minuscule.
None of those who returned spoke of the reclusion room. It might be because no one survived.
'Why would any God pick her, when they could choose someone with fifty chances of victory? They'd wait ten years, risking their own growth, Gods are prideful creatures who seeks strength beyond comprehension would they give it up to pick her? No way.'
They are the kind who involves mortal life in their own little game. Pity was the last thing she expected from them.
Every ounce of hope evaporated from her body. She rose unsteadily almost swinging in her feet, walking to her bed and face-planting into the soft mattress, surrendering to quiet resignation.
'Great. So, she's not free. She's just in time out, waiting to be pawned off to some other cosmic weirdo. She couldn't have been luckier.'
Saoirse screamed into her pillow, muffling her frustration into a tangled mess of fabric. She was about to drift into sleep, exhausted and defeated, when the interface pinged again.
Ding!
[Congrats Tester! You have been assigned to a new God!]
Her eyes snapped open. No way. No freaking way.
Her heart hammered as she read the next message.
[You have been assigned to a New God—the God of Fertility!]
[Initializing communication…]
The interface chimed again.
[Heyo!]
Saoirse blinked, confusion mounted. She sat bolt upright, staring at the glowing interface.
"Who are you?" she asked, her voice wary but curious.
A searing pain then appeared around her neck and thus her new sigil carve itself out. It a pink glowing marks.
Sigil. It was the mark of her divine patron, a symbol that allowed her to communicate directly with her new God outside the liminal interface. With that they can communicate directly in her mind. It used to be a symbol of a two sword from the God of War but now its symbol where there's a full, round moon in the middle. On both sides of it are crescent shapes, each curving inward toward the middle. The outer moons almost appear to hold or frame the full one, the symbol of fertility.
She'd tried to use it before with the God of War but the peculiar old man refused to speak to her directly, communicating only through the interface.
[Ah. Ah. Mic test! Mic test!]
Saoirse rolled her eyes. Of course, her new God was just as problematic as the last. What was with her ability to attract strange people or at this situation God?
"I can hear you just fine," she said dryly, sighing inwardly. The annoyance was thick in her voice. She flopped right back in her bed, eyes now fixed in the ceiling.
[Oh? I thought it was malfunctioning since you asked who I am. Pretty sure, It was supposed to flash on the interface, you know.]
His voice was smooth and almost divine, but the sarcasm cut deep like being stab with dagger wrapped in velvet.
Hurts the same.
The contrast with his attractive tone was… unsettling. Saoirse was an honest person. And she can't deny how pleasing he sounded. No wonder he was the God of Fertility; that voice alone could make any woman fertile. Except her, cause she's severely depressed.
"That was my bad," she muttered, rolling her eyes. She'd learned not to argue. There's no point. He'd chosen her, after all, and that was enough of a miracle for now.
Honestly, she would rather die carrying out her mission or perishing with her soul than endure being prisoner. There's no telling how much that indefinite could stretch and she was sure if left unsupervised, her sanity would completely snap. She might eat the Gods.
[Oh? That's good.]
His tone was casual, almost amused. She could picture him making a little shrug, a smirk curling at the corner of his divine mouth. Not that it matters, she just tend to amuse herself with this little things.
"So, why did you pick me?" she asked with curiosity, settling onto her mattress, tossing sideways as if she were in FaceTime, it's more comfortable this way than in that white, soul-crushing void that seem to challenge her mental state everytime.
[Obviously, because you're incredibly pretty.]
She blinked, stunned. The tone was serious. There's not a hint of hesitation in his voice.
The words hit her like a punch. Did he really mean it? She was considered a rare once in a millennium beauty, as the legends said. But… this?
"Seriously?" she asked, voice flat and skeptical.
[The God of Fertility grinned widely.]
You've got to be kidding me.
She was aware she was beautiful. But this? To be chosen by a God because of her appearance, again? That has to be a running joke in heaven somehow.
['Oh, by the way, I just have one request…']
The God of Fertility chimed in.
Saoirse straightened her back, bracing herself for whatever ridiculous request the God was about to make.
['I want you to fail all of the missions except one.']
Saoirse furrowed her brow in confusion.
What does that man mean? Last she checked, she didn't have many missions to choose from. After all, she was down to her last pull.
"What do you mean, missions?" she tilted her head, confused. "I only have one card pull left."
Then, the interface lit up.
[The God of Fertility's eyes widened.]
['Huh!? What do you mean, one?!'] he yelled so loudly it almost burst her eardrum even if spoken directly to her mind.
"Hey! Don't tell me you don't know?" she sat right up.
[The God of Fertility looked at her in disbelief.]
"Hey! Don't act like you're blaming me! You're the God here—you're supposed to know!" Saoirse argued.
[The God of Fertility sighed.]
"Seriously?" she was dumbfounded. She knew it! She knew no sane God would pick a tester with only one pull left, but apparently, there is one— a dumb one.