Not a single beam of sunlight reached the stone room. Only the flame in the furnace dyed the rustic walls in golden glow as the shadows of several people floated in the dim.
“Pearlman’s failure comes as a surprise.”
An androgynous voice echoed softly from the deep shadow within the hood of a robe. The uttered name belonged to someone who was supposed to be with them—someone with a face.
“You think so? But Pearlman was away from violence for quite some time.”
“But his skill was genuine. And his synthesis with Dia Milus was successful.”
“He was quite vigilant, I will give him that. I rather trusted the fellow, but alas.”
A number of voices expressed their dissenting or assenting opinions. The majority sided with the first speaker.
Pearlman was the name of a professor at Zelfore Academy who’d helped popularize contraband narcotics to the children of nobility who attended there.
But in truth, he was a high-ranking member of a cult known as Gods of the Moon. He was a mighty sorcerer with ability to house one of the cult’s gods in his body and wield its powers.
“I suppose surprise is the most apt way of putting it. It appears we cannot take the powers of the cursed God’s Gift lightly.”
That mighty sorcerer had been defeated—by a lone girl.
That was why they had all gathered in this room. Because the impossible had transpired.
A frivolous-looking man lightly tapped a stack of papers. “It’s bloody incomprehensible. I heard this Mylene Petule was an unscrupulous, self-destructive witch who needed no help in her own demise. It seems out of character for her to defeat someone as powerful as Pearlman to save her friends.”
The owner of the androgynous voice folded their arms again. “Correct. According to our reports, her personality underwent an abrupt shift one day.”
“Odds are, Eltania did something to her. That filthy, cursed god!” a man of incredibly large stature howled in anger.
The hooded cultists nodded in unison. The light of the flame illuminated their deep hatred toward the god Eltania in their twisted frowns.
“But we cannot ignore this. The vessel Eltania so devotedly constructed is most suitable for our lord. We must prepare the ultimate vessel for our Sovereign God Lesewelk’s resurrection—Mylene Petule must die.”
Though the speaker’s voice was soft, the words were turbid with malice. The animosity was directed not only at Eltania, but at Mylene herself.
“The more I think about it, the angrier I get. If that cursed Eltania hadn’t meddled, Mylene would have fallen to destruction on her own—everything would have gone according to our design.”
“I hear the current Mylene Petule is steadfastly devoted to her training. She was powerful enough to defeat Pearlman—if she invocates Eltania to possess her, it’s game over. We must do something to stop her before it’s too late.”
“You’re saying we must strike quickly?”
The frivolous man cheerfully broke the gloom in the air. With a smile in his voice, he said, “One of our grandmasters has already been defeated—I don’t think we can be too careful.”
“…Fair point. I suppose we shouldn’t write her off as just a girl.”
The murmuring voices of the frivolous man’s comrades were gloomy in contrast. They realized just how grave the situation was.
But the man continued, merrily as ever, “So I have a suggestion—why don’t we use Garoh?”
“Mm…” The large man grunted when he heard the name Garoh, the hungry wolf.
But a placid voice firmly shot down the idea. “We can’t use him—he’s still undergoing adjustment. According to his nature, we cannot afford even the slight possibility of failure. I think you’re aware of that.”
“I am. But if he lost to Eltania’s bitch, wouldn’t that only prove he wasn’t worthy in the first place?”
“Bold words, Victor. Besides…” The owner of the placid voice lowered their tone and weaved these words into the gloomy air: “It’s the opposite scenario that’s truly terrifying. If he gains complete control over his powers, he might overtake chaos and return everything to nothingness. Remember your place, everyone. We serve a calamity with sentience.”
“Ohh, well, excuse me. If he’s that powerful, I’d say that’s all the more reason we should witness his power for ourselves at least once.”
The man called Victor kept his smarminess in his playful apology. Evil magic smoldered between the glaring pair—only to be extinguished like a candle blowing out.
“…Well, no matter. The existence of someone like you is chaos as well. We all share the doctrine of our Sovereign God.”
“I’m not surprised you’d say that,” Victor snorted cynically, spreading his arms wide. “It’s that sentiment that brought you here in the first place.”
The androgynous voice snorted quietly, but there wasn’t a hint of annoyance in it.
“If you ask me, I don’t care one bit about God. But I heavily sympathize with the doctrine you all proselytize, and I’m very interested in what kind of world a bunch of like-minded people can create together. I mean to stay and help, until our ideal world is achieved.”
Victor put a hand to his chest and bowed as if he were giving a recitation. His speech received a chorus of snorts.
“That is most agreeable of you. Now, tell us, how specifically do you mean to help us?” With a slight twinge of annoyance, the owner of the placid voice remained calm as a stagnant pool of water.
Both parties likely foresaw such an exchange. The corners of Victor’s lips twisted upward in delight. Those were the words he was waiting to hear. Like an actor making a grand entrance from the wings, he grandly removed his hood to reveal his face, shining with beauty.
“Allow me—Victor Ludland—to dispose of Eltania’s bitch. From what I’ve heard, she possesses a bewitching beauty. As she will become the vessel for our Sovereign God, I’d love to see her for myself.”
Victor smiled like a young lad. Slight of frame and pure of smile, his boyish beauty turned the heads of men and women alike…but beneath his shining eyes lay the filthy sludge of chaos.
“So I was right… That was your goal all along.”
“Well, I’d also like to see Garoh completed, if all goes well. Violence isn’t exactly my forte either, but I think I’m more comfortable with killing than Pearlman.”
“Yes…yes, I suppose you are. Our lord does enjoy your clear and crafty modus operandi.”
But everyone in that room was cut from the same cloth. Men who claimed they were comfortable with killing and others who accepted it without question. Even the owner of the arguably gentle-sounding voice spoke in a way that could hardly be deemed normal.
“All right, we’ll let you handle God’s Bitch for now. How you do it is up to you. Either way, our existence is gradually becoming known. At this rate, we might as well put on a garish show—what better way to announce the dawning of a new era.”
“Then you’ve chosen the right man for the job! Garish showmanship is my specialty.”
“Indeed it is. Well, don’t fail us, Victor.”
“Understood. I, Victor, shall present the perfect show for our Sovereign God Lesewelk! To that end, may I borrow some capable helping hands?”
“You may. I have high hopes of your success.”
With a satisfied smile, Victor gave the grand bow of an actor, then changed the direction he was facing with a broad pirouette. As he waved his hand and put the room behind him, he returned to his former frivolous demeanor.
“When he said he was comfortable with killing, that wasn’t just a line,” the androgynous voice murmured as Victor walked away.
“Victor: the father of tragedy. His faith is flimsy, but his earnest sympathy for our doctrine and his praxis are exemplary.”
The owner of the androgynous voice rose, turning away from the circular table. Before them stood a statue of a man with a beast’s head, looking down at the table.
“Life is like a fluid stream. If the water stops flowing, it stagnates and rots. And likewise, all living beings must flow with blood. If their blood stops flowing, they die. To prevent this—the world must always be in a state of flow.”
The androgynous person turned around again, glancing at the remaining leaders—the grandmasters.
“We are the wave. The only tiny pulse remaining in this world. Before this world rots, we must destroy Eltania—harbinger of the stagnation called tranquility—and return it to a state of everchanging chaos.”
They raised their hands slowly. Their movement was calm but evoked a distinct madness.
“Glory to Lesewelk! Sovereign of Gods of the Moon.”
“A chaotic world!”
“A fluid world!”
And with that, the fanatics made their move…