#29. The Fact That God Is Merciless
Once again, Olivia was held in his arms, and a pale breath escaped from between her parted lips. The very next moment, an entirely different scene unfolded before her eyes. Cutting through the pounding roar of the rain, a voice filled with madness echoed.
“Rejoice! You shall be purified and embraced by the divine!”
A man—clearly wielding a ceremonial dagger, grotesque and unnatural in shape—raised it high above his head. Beneath him lay a child, with Ambre barely managing to shield them. A mother collapsed helplessly before them, reaching out in vain. There was no time to analyze the situation or weigh the risks. Olivia, purely by instinct, shook off Cryer’s arm and leapt forward.
“Oh God!”
“No—!”
In the dead eyes of the child, who had already surrendered to death, a sudden flare of life ignited. The flame wrapped gently around Ambre, who stood protectively in front of the child—and then, the child too was engulfed in it. The flames that embraced the child were unbelievably vast and warm, and their wide eyes trembled.
Olivia, who had rushed in without hesitation, threw her arms around both Ambre and the child. The man’s dagger, aimed at the child, now targeted Olivia’s back—but it never pierced her.
Thud.
With a dull sound, the dagger was intercepted—not by her back, but by a solid palm.
Drip. Drip.
Blood ran down the blade. Cryer gripped the dagger’s blade tightly, blood seeping through his palm. The man tried to resist, but it was futile.
“Grahhh!”
As the decorated hilt of the dagger was ripped from his hand, his palm was torn open. Yet, the blood from his hand flowed down separately from Cryer’s—as if oil and water, they would not mix. Cryer casually pulled the blade from his hand, as though shaking off dust, and threw it to the ground.
Thwack.
The dagger embedded itself not in the muddy ground, but in a nearby stone, with such force that the blade disappeared entirely—far deeper than any normal person could manage.
This all happened in seconds.
Lightning flashed white-hot.
BOOM!
Thunder crashed violently, and the stunned man lost sight of Cryer.
CRACK!
In a blink, Cryer reappeared and stepped on the embedded dagger, driving it even deeper into the stone—until the hilt, too, vanished.
As he turned, his red eyes briefly locked with the child’s. When the rain ran into the child’s eyes, they instinctively shut them.
“Ah…”
A ragged breath slipped from the child’s dry throat.
And in the blink of an eye, Cryer stood face-to-face with the man.
“Ugh!”
Cryer was ruthless. With his bloodied hand, he seized the man’s face and lifted him off the ground, baring his teeth in a savage grin.
“Where is your god now?”
He was smiling—but that smile was closer to weeping.
“Guh… guh—!”
The man struggled to break free, flailing wildly. But his bloodied fingers, slick from the rain, couldn’t even scratch Cryer’s hand.
Then a growl—bestial and deep—rumbled in the man’s ear.
“Where is your god now?”
The man couldn’t even register the words through the pain.
SPLAT.
Cryer tossed him into the mud like trash. The man clawed at his shattered face, trying to wipe away the agony—but soon, he couldn’t feel anything at all.
A deadly pressure rose from the ground and clutched his throat.
“Guh… gah!”
He choked and scratched desperately at the dirt—then suddenly froze.
The killing intent vanished, as if it had never been.
As he massaged his trembling throat, a long, dark shadow loomed over him. Slowly lifting his head, he stared blankly at the beast towering above.
Humanoid in shape—but was it truly human?
Grinning with bared teeth, the monstrous figure watched from the shadows. The man tried to call out for his god, but not even a breath escaped his throat.
Drip. Drop.
Steam rose from broad, rain-soaked shoulders, curling like heat mirages. The surreal slowness of the moment left the man’s eyes glazed and unfocused.
Then, in the midst of the downpour, a pair of glowing crimson eyes flashed.
“Cryer!”
Through the thunderous rain, Olivia’s voice pierced like an arrow.
The man blinked.
And before him was no beast—but a man. Cryer.
Olivia exhaled heavily as Cryer froze in place.
“I… I…”
From between Ambre’s cracked lips came a faint whisper, and Olivia gave her a reassuring smile.
“It’s okay now. Everything’s going to be okay.”
She wanted to say more, to whisper comfort and wrap them in warmth—but instead, Olivia stood immediately.
She draped Cryer’s cloak over Ambre and the child, fastening it gently. Then she turned to face Cryer.
“Haa…”
Her lips, pale as lavender, trembled from the cold and the rain, her whole body shaking. But her smile remained unwavering—like a flame that could never be extinguished, no matter the storm.
Step by step, Olivia approached Cryer.
Her white fingers brushed the veined back of his hand. Though blinded and deafened by the rain, she could feel him clearly through her fingertips.
And finally, Olivia slipped her hand into his.
Their interlocked fingers seemed to find their rightful place.
At that moment, the beast within Cryer lowered its head and lay at Olivia’s feet, breath stilled.
And the man—half swallowed by the beast just seconds ago—realized the truth and let out all the breath he’d held.
“Hah… huh… haah…”
Air and rain filled his shriveled lungs. His blurred vision regained focus.
He darted his eyes around, finally grasping the situation.
“The… ritual… failed.”
The ritual had failed.
Even if those who interrupted him disappeared, it would have to be started again from the beginning. But now, it was over. He could do nothing more.
“Heh… hehehe… haha…”
A grating laugh spilled from his torn lips.
The body of the child, limp in Ambre’s arms, trembled at the sound. Ambre held the child closer, never once taking her eyes off Olivia, Cryer, or the man.
The man stared at his hands—soaked in blood, rain, and mud—and kept laughing.
Everything had ended in an instant. So meaningless. So pitiful.
Even with god’s descent just within reach.
“What’s so funny, dead man walking?”
Cryer’s cutting words didn’t stop the man’s laughter. He wasn’t afraid of dying. He only mourned one thing.
“To think… I failed to bring mercy to this world from the ancient god…”
Cryer’s lip curled in disgust before the man could finish his sentence.
“Mercy? You call that mercy?”
Crunch.
He stomped on the man’s hand, his voice a low growl.
“Mercy? That ritual was mercy?!”
“Purification… it’s the god’s… divine mercy!”
“Ha!”
Cryer scoffed before the man could finish. His laugh was brutal.
“Mercy. How laughable.”
Though looking at the man, Cryer’s gaze seemed to pierce a distant horizon.
“You delude yourself. Believing your god is righteous… believing god is merciful.”
Unwanted resurrection. Unwanted branding.
Even Cryer had once hoped for mercy—from some god, any god, other than the one who cursed him.
But no answer ever came.
From any god.
Cryer tightened his grip—not on the man’s hand, but around his neck.
The man choked, but couldn’t break free.
“You don’t understand the meaning behind god’s actions. No one does.”
That wasn’t just a message to the man—but to himself.
Still staring into the distance, Cryer looked down at the unconscious man, eyes rolled back, and whispered:
“And people like you… never want to understand.”
Olivia bit her lip and clasped her hands tightly.
From where she stood, Cryer’s back looked like he was—crying.
“That god… is merciless.”
His voice—low, resonant—rose from a bottomless pit.
Olivia reached out to him.
Behind him, Olivia wrapped her arms tightly around him, pressing her cheek to his cold, unyielding back.
Her warmth began to burn through his bones.
Cryer stared at her pale arms encircling his waist, then slowly closed his eyes.
His hardened back, once impenetrable, began to ease—just slightly.
Thump.
His heart seemed to plummet from his chest to the earth below.
His crimson pupils shrank sharply, but the pulse happened only once.
Then came a different pain—
With each breath Olivia took against his skin, sharp, stabbing agony radiated from the brand on his collarbone…
“Cryer.”
But at her soft call—seeping into him, flowing through his blood—
Cryer said nothing.
He simply closed his eyes.
And so, on a day when the rain poured like a waterfall, the man’s clumsy ritual—meant to summon an ancient god—ended in a failure no one could understand or explain.
