It was only a matter of time before someone discovered the atrocity that had occurred within the Church of Eudoxia. Two opponents had been locked in battle for what seemed like ages, when in reality, it had only been a few minutes.
Thankfully, there had been no one attending mass that night, especially not at such a late hour. The sanctuary stood hollow and dim, its stained-glass windows reduced to muted silhouettes against the dark.
Only Pastor Lee, a tall, physically toned man with short black hair, and a handful of volunteer helpers remained behind, tending to the quiet routines that followed every service. They often cleaned the worn wooden floorboards, wiped down rows of polished chairs, and sorted through stacks of financial paperwork beneath the faint glow of lantern light.
Aid from others was not something Pastor Lee expected, but he appreciated it nonetheless. Ever since the appearance and constant assaults originating from the Feathers of Celica, the world has shown less and less appreciation for religious practices.
Paladins in the far eastern and northern regions of Fridan worshipped the Goddess of Justice, and their recent violent crusades under the orders of the Great Paladin created a growing rift of distrust between ordinary citizens and believers.
Even in a city that still wished to believe in the Gods, attending what seemed like ritualistic events was beyond most people’s desires or intentions. Instead, they resorted to offering quiet prayers at the water fountain in the middle of the city plaza.
However, Pastor Lee understood better than anyone that faith was not something meant to be forced upon others. As a true believer of Hope, he followed the teachings of the Goddess Eudoxia.
If lost lambs desired to seek salvation, they would come, no matter the circumstance.
And yet, the vile creature that stood before him defied all the knowledge he once believed to be true about this world. It possessed a form and body that should not have functioned in theory, and a soul darker than the abyss itself.
The volunteers who had stepped forward to help him during such late hours of the night were now reduced to condensed masses of mud. Their shattered bones and torn skin littered the surface of the wet, dark brown sludge, barely distinguishable from the ruin they had become.
As this was a relatively safe city, Pastor Lee had never found reason to employ his combat training. His role had always been spiritual guidance, not violence. And yet, here he stood with his blade drawn, facing a monster that worshipped Despair.
On his body frame, he wore a long black cloak devoid of all color. Around his neck was a metallic piece of jewelry that represented the main centerpiece of his religion. While others suggested that the holy clothing for Hope should have been pure white, practitioners of Hope believed that light often came from the darkest of places.
He wielded a thin blade, almost as though it had been crafted for fencing rather than war. The hilt was engraved with passages from what the church called the “Hopeful Gospel.” Whether the scriptures etched into the steel truly held power against the forces of evil, he did not know.
All he could do was hope, and put trust in his own faith. In his mind, he believed that it was only a matter of time before the Goddess of Hope would rush to his aid spiritually, granting him enough strength to overcome this seemingly impossible obstacle.
The monster before him had introduced himself as “Rias Sol” as he stepped closer, his body oozing rotten meat and spoiled blood with every sluggish movement. Even from where he stood, Lee knew that close-quarters combat would be nearly impossible against a beast that moved like mud given form.
If any human logic still applied to the abomination before him, then his strikes would simply pass through the creature without causing meaningful damage. His Birthmark flared as he had the idea of burning the mud away.
If he emitted enough heat, then there would be a possibility of solidifying Rias’ watery body. It would use all of his magical energy, that much he knew, but the consequences of letting such a monster get away would be dire.
As sweat dripped down his temple, he slid one leg forward to brace himself before a wet, visceral voice interrupted him.
“This is the main Church of Eudoxia in Atrila, right?”
“If you give me a fragment of the Spear of Eudoxia, then I’ll let you live.”
The speech cadence was unlike the mud-man. But after his recent failure at the Kala Magic Academy and his brutal punishment from Quintella, he had no intention of messing up another mission.
Despite a flood of drool leaking through his teeth from both ends of his mouth, he held his head high in an attempt to communicate with the Pastor.
“Spear of Eudoxia…” Lee mumbled to himself.
He knew of the spear’s existence. It was a crucial part of his studies when trying to become a leader for the Church. However, its existence was often secretly questioned even by those in the highest authority.
If such a weapon existed, speculation would not run so rampant. As an artifact that supposedly held great power, if someone were to unleash its strength, the world would surely go to war to acquire it.
The Staff of Eudoxia. The Chains of Domination. The Wings of Atrila. The Cloak of Celica.
All artifacts that were highly sought after not only by religious leaders, but by world leaders as well.
In ages long past, great ancestors plundered the world’s treasuries in hopes of obtaining even the slightest fragment of information regarding their whereabouts, yet nothing of substance ever surfaced in the end.
Confusion overwhelmed Lee. He had never heard of anyone discovering even a single confirmed piece of those relics, let alone hiding fragments of one inside his own Church without his knowledge.
The Pastor denied its existence to Rias, claiming that no such treasures could be found here, and firmly requested that he leave the premises at once.
But Rias was not so easily convinced. He had not come to this conclusion on his own. At some point, he was a human with curious questions about the world. If it were up to him, he would not have even bothered to look for such an artifact.
However, the request came from Quintella herself, and to the mud-man, her words were absolute and could never be wrong. If the Pastor was unwilling to hand over the artifact, or worse, did not know of its existence, then he would search the building by force.
Before any more words could be exchanged, Rias shot his arm forward.
“—Close!” Lee grunted, barely dodging the blow with a sidestep.
There was no more time for thought, no more time for strategy. If the monster insisted on being hostile, then a peaceful man such as himself would return the favor tenfold.
Flaring his Birthmark a bright orange-red, Lee fired a single explosive fireball at Rias. A part of him hoped it would turn the mud-man into a more solid form, so that he could strike him with his holy blade.
But another part of him hoped the explosion would be loud enough to bring reinforcements. Normally, cries would be enough to gather sufficient attention during the daytime, but during the night, when many of those wandering the streets were drunkards, he needed to resort to far more intense methods.
Rias did not even dodge the attack; he simply absorbed it with his body.
A slight smirk formed on Lee’s face as he thrust his right leg forward, dashing as fast as he could toward his opponent. He did not know the full extent of Rias’ powers, so he chose to strike before the mud-man could retaliate with an attack of his own.
Unfortunately, his hope was misplaced.
The mud-man had opted to absorb the attack in order to draw all attention the attack might have brought if it were to have impacted any other area of the Church. Besides, a level of attack so weak as the one that Pastor Lee threw was not nearly enough to solidify his body.
Had he been gifted with greater magical energy, it might have provoked him to engage in far more critical thinking, but from the mud-man’s perspective, there was no need to bring out a cannon to hunt down a rabbit.
It was too late for the Pastor. He had stepped too close to the mud-man and was met with a sadistic smile. A row of knife-like teeth lined his mouth as his jaw stretched open to devour the man whole.
There was no time to dash back and no time to counterattack. In a blink of an eye, half of his body was engulfed in darkness, dozens of sharp tips bit through his skin and pierced his innards. Blood sprayed throughout the sadistic cultist’s mouth, refreshing his sanity with each drop.
He let out a guttural scream, but it did not reach beyond the muddy walls of Rias’ mouth. With a single motion, Rias tore the once kind Pastor in half, and his legs tumbled onto the ground. Not wanting to waste a single piece of flesh, Rias leaned down and consumed the rest of his body in one fell swoop.
Licking his fingers clean, Rias gathered the balls of mud scattered across the floor. To him, they served as adequate appetizers, yet he still craved the taste of someone who had not cast a single magical attack in their life.
After eating a piece of Saya Idlansil, he desired nothing more than to experience such a taste again. Huddling the balls into one place, Rias pierced his own stomach as if searching for something within.
Within seconds, he pulled out the deceased and partially digested body of Pastor Lee before tossing it onto the growing pile of corpses. A smile curled along his face as his body began to glow an unusual shade of dark blue.
“Soul Symphony, Gourmet Army.”
With that single string of words, the pile of mud-ball corpses began to merge with one another. The bodies were devoid of life, with no memories or emotions left to cast upon the world.
But souls still lingered as long as a single body part, such as the head or heart, remained intact. There were rumors of people’s souls being entrapped in pieces of paper back in the nation of Aimafina, but such techniques were far too advanced and orderly for Rias. All he wanted right now, was to savor the taste of flesh and blood
Rias’ Soul Symphony, allowed him to create new life through the merging of his own body. It contained enough magical energy to supply life to souls that would crave it. In many ways, it was a sick form of puppeteering, using a person’s life as a battery to supply his own, personal army.
Bones meshed with one another, and so did the skin. Bound by an invisible string of magical energy and twisted by fate, the four living beings who were once human were transformed into a single, grotesque child of mud, taking the form of a giant hand protruding from the ground.
There was no reason for him to cast such a powerful ability on opponents who were not worthy of it. But Rias simply derived pleasure from seeing the despair on the victims’ faces after they were fused into one.
It was a sick, yet satisfying art piece to the cultist.
Satisfied with the results, Rias stepped forward with the intention of searching for his objective when the wooden door before him slowly creaked open. His eyes widened with joy as he caught the scent of the one who had driven him mad since the day he met her.
Flicking his head rapidly, he spotted the lone silhouette of the girl, bearing the same jewel-like eyes and wearing the robe of the boy he had once pinned down.
“W-What are you doing here?”
His smile vanished faster than it had appeared, as he was met with the being who had nearly ended his life within the span of ten seconds. The figure before him was not the defenseless, foolish student he had preyed on, but the mechanical mage he had nearly lost to.
To the mud-man, it was not Saya Idlansil who stood before him, but Oktavia.