Chapter 72 — Curse (Paid-Patrons)

My punch dislodges Serios's lower jaw from its hinges, and my heart fills with twisted joy at the genuine fear in his eyes.

How many times has it come to this?

How many times have I dismantled the Apostle—limb by limb, organ by organ?

How many times have I beaten him to death with his own body parts?

But the most important question is, how much longer can he last?

Not much longer than [Eternal Engine], I suspect.

If I can’t kill the Flesh, I'll break the Mind instead.

By the end of this, I want the bastard a drooling mess on the ground

As I swing, I grab his jaw on the way down and slam his fangs square into the center of his face.

With a flick of my hand, I deflect the unexpected arrows, glaring murderously at the Astromancer responsible.

I hiss, "So you've chosen death."

My leg lashes backward, kicking Serios Anathansiou into the giant cauldron bolted shut to the floor with such speed and force that it almost looks like the Dead Apostle briefly glitches out of reality.

Blood from his brother splatters across the jade floor, staining my khakis as I advance toward him.

I may have a need for talents at the moment—be they Psychic, Magi, or otherwise—but even a blind man can see Alexios’ loyalty lies with his House alone.

I have neither the patience nor the time to try to change his mind.

What I do have is a boundless fury that overrides any fear of the consequences.

It's not surprising, but it is nevertheless disappointing.

A real shame… I was looking forward to having a Stellar Mage in my party.

Even with the decline of the Magecraft Foundation and Mysteries in general, the Craft still seems to hold a lot of potential. Take, for instance, the Ritual his brother is invoking to achieve Apostlehood. “I told you—”

Quickly, Alexios conjures the Scutum Constellation, forming the outline of the Heavenly Shield, which my knuckles tear through like wet paper.

In the span of a few breaths, the Astromancer has already erected three more Constellations.

I break through the first one with ease, feeling some resistance at the second.

By the third, my momentum has faded.

Alexios seems relieved to see the trajectory of my fist altered, until a spark of flame ignites over the protrusion of my middle finger. “I held back.”

Fire engulfs him completely.

I don’t expect the flames to kill the Magus; the real damage comes from the punch I follow up with through the blaze, which would’ve–should have collapsed his ribcage and, in turn, both of his lungs. Instead, I only break—‘Was that two I counted?’

Two ribcages, thanks to the string of blood that has wrapped itself around my bicep.

“Persistent pest…”

From within the crimson pool, Serios begins to reform, using the muscle fibers of his arm as tendrils to try and bind me.

Unfortunately… For him and his older brother both, given the differences in our strength, his incomplete and hence unstable transformation, plus his unstable footing, I easily yank the new Apostle toward me with just a flex of my tricep, put a gaping hole in his face and the floor both, before swinging his body at Mach 3 toward the older Anathansiou.

Reformed Flesh splatters against the Scutum Constellation, instantly transforming into a foul-scented, chunky, bloody soup that reeks from the heights of Heaven to the depths of Hell itself, Apostle tries to regenerate once more, but his effort falls flat with me elbow-deep in the Undead's newly-recreated, exposed brain and eyeballs, the latter of which are still rolling wildly in their half-formed sockets, only barely held in place by the optic nerves behind them as I shatter the skull in which they’re contained.

I use the bone shards as projectiles, channeling [Kinetic Blast] to focus all the momentum into needle-point spots for a quick strike at the elder.

The 'bullets' land true, carving perfect-sized holes in his chest.

One even shatters half of his kneecap.

He’s only still alive because the blood tendrils managed to block 30% of the projectiles.

To his credit, Alexios recovers almost as quickly as his brother, even without the power of a Ritual behind him.

hands flashing gang signs, he taps into a resource—not blood exactly, but the surrounding moisture. “Let me guess—Crips?”

“[Genesis Nebulae]!” Alexios chants, and instantly, a shimmering cloud envelops us, causing the temperature to drop to a freezing cold that continues to drop.

“Heh…”

[Developer’s Option] provides all the insight I need about the Spell.

It is remarkably similar to a Reality Marble. Both are forms of Bounded Fields and represent the culmination of years of Craft; both temporarily overwrite Gaia’s Laws. The key difference is instead of creating a Pocket-Dimension with distinct entry and exit points, the Nebula causes physical Space itself to expand; working with Gaia rather than against her.

Then again, his Magecraft draws on the Celestial Bodies, which have quite the symbiotic relationship with Mother Earth for whatever reasons…

 “Interesting.” I mumble, charging towards where Alexios had stood just moments ago—into the starry gas cloud.

The sudden heat radiating from the stars makes my skin tingle and flush a pinkish red, and I hiss in discomfort.

“I didn’t want it to come to this, but you’ve forced my hand.” Alexios declares.

“Forcing your hand?” I repeat with a snort of disgust. “You and your brother left me no choice. If you hadn’t dragged them into your little spat, I wouldn’t care what the two of you do—”

“Is a commoner worth all this trouble?”

It is the Astromancer’s turn next to ask—a question which I refuse to even entertain.

“This is your last chance to back out, Alexios. Think about your parents… Who’ll care for them in their old age if not you? Who will inherit your ancestral legacy? Why help him when he’ll only betray you?”

“Blood’s thicker than water, Hangman.”

“Perhaps,”

I muse, steadying my emotions with [Reinforcement].

Incredibly useful Spell, but sadly underappreciated by Magi for its simplicity.

“But syrup’s thicker than blood, Alexios—syrup you could savor every morning after if you’d just step asides. Walk away, Showsman, for your own good.”

“He’s my brother…” Alexios whispers again, voice tinged with uncertainty.

I’ve never heard someone sound so terribly conflicted and unsure of himself.

He’s clearly torn about aiding his brother; he just feels— “Responsible… That’s what this all boils down to, isn’t it?”

I understand the sentiment all too well—that invisible, yet oppressively soul-crushing weight.

I blame fortune-tellers…

"You feel responsible for your House, for nurturing the young, and supporting the elders as the next patriarch, right? Not only that, you feel responsible for your brother's downfall. You shouldn't. It's his decision, and it should be his grave to lie in, not yours."

Now it's his turn to fall silent.

"Come on, Alexios, mark my words—he'll come for you first once the Ritual accomplishes its purpose."

Unlike other Spells, [Developer's Option] continuously siphons Od directly from me to sustain itself.

It's somewhat akin to Mystic Eyes in that regard,

And while [Structural Grasp] typically floods my brain with an headache-inducing load of information, [Developer's Option] breaks it down into composition and attributes that I can explore mentally.

That's how I know Alexios is stalling as much ad he’s hesitating.

The Ritual needs another five hours to complete.

From the [Background], the Ritual originated from a Greek tradition—conceived by the first Athanasiou, who aimed to mirror the Gods and etch himself across the Cosmos…

He wanted to become a Constellation;

To be immortalized alongside Orion and Perseus.

Yet, the Ritual demanded more power than even the Stars could provide him from such a distance.

In his desperation, he attempted what his descendant is trying now.

The original version—destroyed by Van-Fem himself—was much less dramatic.

It required far fewer human sacrifices, merely a hundredth of Serios' Blood Ascension.

But as the world changed and the first half of the Constellation Ascension Ritual fell into utter disrepair, the younger Athanasiou had to get a little… Let's say 'creative’ powering the Ritual.

He dismantled several Rituals from various cultures, then experimented with each to see what’d tick best; what’d give him the optimal result.

Ultimately, he settled on the Xian Art.

The result is an immensely powerful Ritual set to start at midnight and end precisely at 3 AM—when the veil between the Living and the ‘Unclean’ is at its weakest.

“You think you can keep me here until your brother completes his Transformation? Do you even have the Od to maintain this?”

I challenge, a smirk playing on my lips, expertly disguising the annoyance simmering beneath.

“I can most certainly try,” Alexios replies. “Here’s the deal: I want to help my brother, but I also want to live. So, if you stay in here until Serios’ little Ritual is finished, I will walk away. I will never bother you again… Just let him have this before…”

He trails off, leaving my mind to complete the thought for him.

"Before he's hunted by both the Clock Tower and the Summit Court for causing an international incident? Or before I tear him apart like chicken tendies?"

“Does it matter?”

“No…” Chuckling, I settle into a cross-legged position in the middle of the Nebula.

There’s no point in wasting energy, especially since [Developer’s Option] has made it clear that the only way to escape [Genesis Nebula] is with [Anti-World] Spell or one designed to dismantle a nigh unbreakable Bounded Field. “I suppose it doesn’t.”

“So, what do you say? Deal?” Alexios tempts.

“You’re asking for a lot.”

“You’re going to kill him anyway… what does it matter if you wait an hour or two?”

“It’s not just an hour or two, is it? It’s five. Time’s money, Alexios. Time’s money.” I correct, glaring at the twinkling Stars above.

“I’ll compensate you to make it fair.”

“You still owe me the block you promised,” I remind,

“There’s a contract drawn up by my butler back in London. Sign it, and the properties are yours to do with as you like.” And Alexios assures.

The bizarre circumstances asides, negotiations are not completely off the table.

I have an issue with his brother, not him. “What can you offer me, Alexios? What do you have that I don’t?”

“… You seem like a lad who can appreciate an easy power-up? That’s what they call it nowadays, right, power-up?”

"You're offering me your Crest?"

"I'm offering you somebody else's Crest. We’ve got plenty—none that suits our House, so they're just sitting around; gathering dust. That, and my brother's Ritual. What do you say? Interested?"

I must admit, he knows how to tempt.

"I'd get his Ritual either way, so make it five Crests and we have a deal."

"That's too much. How about two?"

"Three, or everything goes up in flames," I counter.

"You'd be blowing yourself up too." Alexios warns.

"And the Ritual; your brother... And you." I reply, eyes locked onto the sparkling Stars overhead. “Trust me, between my life and the fiery, agonizing death of my enemy, I’d pick the latter 9 times out of 10.”

As the saying goes: “The man who seeks vengeance digs two graves—one for his enemy and one for himself. I am that man. It doesn’t matter if I end up in the depths of Hell itself, as long as my enemy suffers equally or worse.”

"Such a self-destructive mindset..." He comments.

"We are who we are," I reply with a shrug. "Besides, you're hardly one to judge, Mr. 'I-feel-responsible-for-my-dick-of-a-younger-brother.'"

“We are who we are… Three, and the properties I promised you. No trick this time.”

“Three.” I nod along, resting my chin on the end of my palm.

Right now, I can still give Serios Athanasiou a decent thrashing, but once the Ritual concludes, who knows what might happen? Still, for three Crests, it's well worth the risk. I refuse to believe that the ten False Stars I've got stashed away can’t blow this place, along with the Athanasiou and accursed Ritual, to smithereens.

Even better, since I can’t die as long as Sakura’s alive, I’m not really facing any threat of death—just potential dismemberment and some severe disfigurement, both of which are easy enough to fix.

‘Huh… Maybe I should buy Triss those scar ointments.’

She's been a tremendous help to me, and the magical version is a bargain compared to modern surgery—more effective too. “Wake me when it’s done.”

Yawning, I straighten my back and let my mind drift into a state of relaxation, allowing time to tick by second by second.

I’m not really napping, of course—just meditating.

It’s been a while since I’ve done this.

Never managed more than half an hour in the past, too restless with worries.

“Hundredth time’s the charm.” I remind myself.

As I sink into the depths of my consciousness, I regulate my breathing according to the old man’s teachings.

He promised there would be light, but all I see is darkness.

An endless, repulsive darkness that stretches on and on—endlessly, something that even I find disgusting, accompanied by a… Ghoulish, roaring fury contained by [Reinforcement].

Here's a more natural-sounding version:

“Three dangos, three dangos;

Big brother dango, middle brother dango, little brother dango~”

To be honest, it’s an incredibly awful tune—certainly catchy, but painfully simplistic in both melody and lyrics…

And yet, such a musical abomination’s now permanently seared into my mind.

“I-It hurts… It hurts so much. Please make it stop. I’m not going to turn into one of them, am I? They’re so ugly.”

Branded into my Soul, just like the image of her skeleton stretching, her skin turning ashen black, and her hair falling out in clumps at the slightest touch.

Alexios seems baffled by my Insistence on killing his brother… Puzzled by my concern for a mere ‘commoner.’

Truth be told, I’m just as puzzled.

I’ve only met the kid twice, and our first encounter was hardly pleasant.

The little shit cried the whole flight like someone had stolen her candy.

The memory makes me chuckle myself awake, only to be greeted not by the starry [Genesis Nebula], but by the dark, damp ceiling of the cavern.

I've never understood why so many Xian, murder-hobos, if we’re being technical, enjoy wet caves so much, but to each their—“DIE!!!”

Catching the fist flying at my face, I glare as the previously visualized cyan lines turn a brilliant gold, spreading across both my face and torso.

“Here’s another fun fact for the two of you: I was still holding back.”

Even in the Infinity of Nasu, there isn't a single Timeline where Serios ever wins this fight. I have plenty of counters against him, but he doesn't have anything that truly hard-counters me.

Grabbing the bastard by the face, I slam him onto the floor repeatedly until his skin and hair appear fused with the muddy soil.

All the while, the Apostle tries to bite my hand and ‘infect’ me, failing each time... In fact, his fangs don't even break the skin before giving way—their sharp tips snapping, the ligaments keeping them tied to his gums tearing apart, as the bony, bloodied protrusions start to drop one by one onto the floor.

“H-HoW?! I-I should be invinci—”

“You don’t seem invincible to me…”

I taunt, my fingers digging into the Apostle’s eyeballs as I whisper. “There’s no way you could have known this, but on that plane your brother boarded, one of my subjects was there. She died from the ‘Infection’ you unleashed… She died choking, screaming, and begging. Are you happy?”

“I-I didn’t know…”

“I know you didn’t, otherwise you never would have done it, right? But what’s done is done. Now, I believe I asked you a question: Are you happy?”

“N-No!” Immediately, I twist his arm around like a cheap Barbie and yank it out of the socket, muffling the Apostle’s loud, pained scream with my hand. “You’re not happy to have met me? I’m hurt—I thought we were having a moment here?!”

“I-I’m not happy I accidentally killed her!”

“But if you hadn’t killed her, our paths never would have crossed! We would’ve never had such fun…”

For me, at least.

Not so much him.

“You get one chance to fix your answer, Serios. One chance.”

“I-I am happy?”

My slap knocks the remaining fangs from his mouth. “Was that a statement, or a question?” 

“STATEMENT! DAMN IT, IT’S A STATEMENT, YOU FUCKING PSYCHO!”

“So you’re happy you killed her…” I conclude, tilting my head until we’re eye-level, then drag the Apostle by the nape like a rabid dog.

"You told me to say it! You told me to say it!” He cries frantically, struggling against my grip until he finally breaks free by tearing his own nape and limping away.

My foot, however—my right foot to be exact—disagrees, stomping on his ankles until they’re nothing but a bloody smear on the floor.

Just a few feet away from the large cauldron in the center of the room, I toss the Apostle on top of it and climb up right after him, trying to pry the lid open without success.

Humming, I inject a portion of Od—of True Ether—into the Mystic Code, watching with indifference as it glows a brilliant gold. "Open," I command, and it obeys, the lid popping off to reveal the bottomless pit inside while I bat two miniature black holes away.

They’re nowhere near the real thing, but they did manage to draw some blood from me, momentarily reinvigorating the Apostle.

With renewed strength, he bites down again, this time managing to break my skin. “I did it! I—”

I kick the bastard into the cauldron, before resolutely peeling off the infected flesh and dropping it in alongside the Apostle.

“I might be cruel, but I’m not barbaric, so consider this your last meal.”

“NO! NONONO! DON—”

Securing the Artifact to ensure it won’t move, I close my eyes and exhale deeply, my heart racing as if it’s running a marathon barefoot.

Then, I start punching the cauldron, each strike making the Beast inside roar in agony.

I’ve never stood under a bell before, but it can’t be pleasant to be trapped inside one while someone outside strikes it repeatedly with a sledgehammer.

Super-Hearing doesn’t feel much like a boon under such circumstances, I imagine.

“Goodbye, Serios Athanasiou… Die knowing you’re a both failure as a Magus, and now as an Apostle.” With a flick of my hand, a [Star] descends—the plasma and heat all sucked up by the Mystic Code that seems all too willing to obey. “Die knowing everything–EVERYTHING you’ve accomplished will benefit me.”

And then the scream starts—harrowing cries even more wretched than Zouken’s final moments.

Vengeance’s done.