'Wait, I'm Supposed to Become a Goddess?! But I'm a Guy!'

Meanwhile, deep beneath the surface, somewhere within the winding bowels of an underground chamber, a meeting was underway.

The air inside the hidden room was thick and unmoving, the silence broken only by the flickering hiss of candle flames hung across the walls.

Pale light washed over rough stone walls, casting twisted shadows that danced like deranged ballerinas around the robed figures seated at the long, crude table.

The one seated at the head leaned forward slightly, his voice low and rumbling like a bell tolling from the depths of a crypt.

“How’s the collection been going so far?”

The question hadn’t even fully settled into the air before the others, shrouded in identical black robes, began to respond one after another, their voices overlapping like the chirping of vultures.

“It’s been progressing smoothly,” one rasped, a note of eagerness tucked beneath his calm tone.

“Yes, yes! I slaughtered over ten native fools on their way to this territory. That number’s only going to rise,” another added, a sick thrill hidden in his chuckle.

“Even I’ve been busy,” said a third, voice quieter but no less sinister. “Hunting young women among the beggars and refugees. This territory is teeming with them... like sheep begging to be culled.”

The figure at the head of the table nodded slowly, the faint curve of a smile hidden under the depths of his hood.

“Good... Keep it that way. But make sure you’re not seen. We’re on a tight schedule, and the Master’s orders are absolute. The collection must continue, no delays.”

“Understood.”

“More blood! More death! More souls to silence!” one cackled, half-rising from his seat as if possessed by the ecstasy of slaughter.

“Young women are mine,” another hissed.

"Don’t you dare interfere. I want to savor every moment of their final breaths. Their last dance is mine alone.”

Monsters.

They might’ve once been human, but whatever shred of that identity remained had long since rotted away.

Their race, their names, even their souls... discarded.

What sat around that table now were damned creatures wrapped in flesh, bound by sin, living only to serve and destroy.

Perhaps they were the one that Mize feared about?

Then, the voice at the head of the table rose once more.

“However.”

The word sliced through the feverish murmurs like a blade.

All voices went still.

The leader leaned back into the shadows, tone calm but laced with a subtle edge.

“The Master has warned us, there are forces in this town that might detect our movements"

"If any of you took the time to investigate, you’d know. A new church has been established at the heart of the town.”

A ripple of recognition passed through the room.

“Oh... you mean that church for the so-called angel? The ‘Mother of Life,’ right?” one sneered.

“Hihihihiii... That woman should be mine. That body, so perfect. I want her chained beside me, a plaything for eternity.”

“Silence.”

The command wasn’t loud, but it cut through the noise like iron.

The leader raised a hand, and the room quieted instantly, all attention returned to him.

“Do not speak of her again. With your strength, you wouldn’t even make it within ten steps of that church. She is not someone you can touch. Not even dream of.”

The words sank in.

“Now listen carefully,” he continued, his tone dipping lower, more deliberate.

“The Master has passed down word. That church... they may retaliate soon. They’ve caught wind of us.”

“But how?” a figure asked, confused. “We’ve gone undetected for this long.”

“It’s not us they’ve found,” the leader said, his fingers slowly tapping against the wooden table.

“It’s the Master. There’s someone in that church, dangerous enough to threaten his plans.”

A beat of silence followed his words. Even the candles seemed to flicker differently.

“So,” he said at last, his gaze sweeping the room, lingering on the hidden faces beneath the hoods, “don’t let this delay the collection. Watch your steps. Don’t be careless.”

"If you get caught, then you know your fate better than anyone else"

His voice faded like a whisper buried in the dark.

The room, once lively with unhinged zeal, now sat in stillness again, each figure letting the gravity of his words settle in.

Then, one of the figures leaned forward, his hood casting a jagged shadow over his face as his voice cut through the room, low, raspy, and curling at the ends like a serpent’s hiss.

“Ah yes… I’ve brought everyone a little gift.”

A slow hum of curiosity rippled through the room.

“Owhhh? A gift?” someone muttered, amusement coloring their voice.

“Yes, yes! I’ve kidnapped several young women for everyone here to taste. Here…”

With a casual flick of his wrist, he reached into the sack slung over his shoulder.

The motion drew every gaze toward him.

In an instant, a shimmer swept over the table.

Several lifeless bodies appeared, laid out like offerings.

Their clothes were scraps, rags and torn robes barely clinging to them, unmistakably the garb of the impoverished.

“Slaves…” one of the figures murmured, stepping forward.

His fingers hovered over a corpse before poking at it with grotesque interest.

He leaned in slowly, lifted the arm with theatrical grace, then sank his teeth into it.

A meaty crunch followed.

Flesh tore. He chewed with clear satisfaction, swallowing the chunk like it was the finest of cuts.

Blood trickled from the torn limb, mixing with the crimson dribbling down the corners of his mouth. He licked his lips and grinned.

“Still warm. Hahaha… Good! Good! A proper feast for the night!”

A chorus of laughter followed, dry and hollow.

The others didn’t hesitate, hands reached out from every side, each grabbing a body to partake in the twisted banquet.

Minutes slipped by in this grisly silence, broken only by the wet sound of chewing and cracking bone.

One figure, while gnawing on a woman’s skull, now split open to reveal pulped brain matter, suddenly paused.

“Hmmm?”

He tilted his head, noticing the figure beside him hadn’t moved in some time.

And the body laid before that one?

Untouched.

“Oi. If you don’t want yours, hand it over,” he said with a crooked grin, reaching out.

His hand latched onto the woman’s chest, then ripped it free with grotesque ease, biting into it like it was nothing more than fruit. “Hello?”

Still, no response.

The hooded figure remained motionless, head bowed, chest rising and falling steadily.

He was alive.

But still.

That earned a flicker of unease.

The grinning man scratched his neck, hesitant now. “You not into dead ones? I’ve got a live one if you’re picky.”

His words pulled the attention of the rest of the table.

“I had to work hard to grab this little toy. Stole a unique storage ring off an Awakener, it can store living humans inside, not just corpses.”

As he reached for his pocket, a hand suddenly entered his vision.

It latched around his wrist.

His head shot up, confusion flashing in his eyes. “What the"

Pop.

His head burst like a melon, spraying blood across the table, walls, and floor in a sudden, horrific bloom of red.

The shock froze the others. None could move, let alone react, mouths still mid-bite.

Then.

Boom.

Boom.

Boom.

Jagged wooden roots erupted from the floor, spearing through their bodies.

They twisted upward in coils, wrapping each victim like mummified statues.

But death didn’t come swiftly.

Instead, a strange warmth flooded into them. Healing, suffocatingly potent, poured into their mangled bodies even as the roots continued to crush them.

“A-ARGH!!!”

“What—What is—!!”

“AGHHHHH!!!”

Their screams erupted in broken, gurgling bursts.

The brutal cycle of regeneration and destruction muffled their cries, only to renew them again moments later.

Roots squeezed harder, bones shattered, organs burst, only to be healed seconds later.

Their hoods fell back, revealing vaguely human faces.

But these weren’t men. These were abominations, once human, now far removed from any semblance of it.

Then, the one who had remained silent, the one who’d triggered everything, slowly rose to his feet.

His hand lifted his own hood, pulling it back to reveal the weathered face of an old man.

The same face Mize had once created.

“Painful, isn’t it?”

His voice grated against the air, dry and brittle like rusted metal.

He stepped up to one of the writhing, bound figures, clasping his hands behind his back, tilting his head slightly.

“It hurts, yes?”

No response came, only choking gasps and broken shrieks.

The old man’s gaze didn’t waver. His eyes were still.

“I’ll make sure this pain doesn’t end anytime soon,” he said, stroking his beard with eerie calm.

“You betrayed your own kind for mindless indulgence. So now, feel hell. The kind you’ve earned.”

This wasn’t the only scene playing out tonight. It was one of many.

Because Harapan had moved.

By himself, he wasn’t invincible, not yet.

Strong, yes.

Far beyond the average Awakeners, capable of tearing through enemies above his tier.

But to wipe out multiple nests like this?

Alone? Impossible.

Until now.

Because now, he had five Tier 5 experts under his command.

The scene shifted.

A tall, spiraling tower loomed under the moon.

Harapan stood at its edge, one hand resting lightly on the cold stone railing, the other behind his back.

His gaze stretched into the distance, expression unreadable, as if he were staring beyond the horizon itself.

A breeze passed.

Swoosh.

A figure emerged behind him, stepping into the moonlight. An older man in a cloak, shadows dancing across his face.

He bowed. “The hideouts have all been purged, Master. Those creatures are now trapped… in that endless torment your spell created.”

Harapan didn’t turn.

His fingers traced the curve of the railing, eyes still locked on the sky.

“Good.”

His voice echoed faintly.

“Let them know this land is not defenseless. Let them understand someone is watching.”

He paused, then asked, “How did their bodies react to the method I instructed?”

“Just as you predicted,” the old man answered. “Without fresh flesh to feed on, they’re deteriorating. Their minds snapping. They’ve begun turning on each other and even... Going insane"

Harapan nodded slightly.

“Then they’re nothing more than flesh-hungry beasts.”

A flicker of light glinted in his eyes.

“When the first wave of Holy Knights finishes transformation, send them out. I want patrols combing the outskirts. These things are rats, we’ll dig them out.”

The old man hesitated. “But, Master… they aren’t ready. Their strength has grown, yes, but they lack battle experience.”

“Then this is their training,” Harapan said simply, waving his hand.

“The enemy now knows we exist. They’ve seen our strength. They won’t strike blindly again.”

"I don't know what genius idea Elias has by designing the city this way, complicated maze. But it would be hard with us alone to fish these monsters out one by one"

He looked up at the moon.

“If I were them, I’d already suspect they’re being tracked. Perhaps by proximity, too many of them gathered draws our attention.”

“That means,” he concluded, “we’ve struck while the odds favor us. The right time to temper our knights.”

The old man lowered his gaze and gave a deep nod.

The Holy Knights, Harapan’s personal creation. Mize wasn’t wrong. She just hadn’t seen the full picture.

Harapan wasn’t merely a genius. He was a phenomenon, one in a thousand years.

With every spell he received, he birthed countless derivatives. Among them, The Blessing of the Mother of Life.

A spell that turned an ordinary human into an Awakener by force. But the price? Irreversible.

Those transformed would never live as mortals again.

Only Harapan knew the incantation. And he had no plans to share it.

This was his blade, his trump card. His answer to the darkness closing in.

The blessed were immortal, not in the invincible sense, but in longevity. No sleep, no hunger, no death by age.

And each was handpicked.

Like him, they were people who’d once stood alone, desperate to change a rotting world. Loyal believers in the Mother of Life.

“Master,” the old man spoke again, pulling him from his thoughts.

Harapan tilted his head slightly. “What is it?”

“One more thing. During the raid, Number Four captured a survivor"

“Alive?”

“Alive,” he confirmed. “She’s in the infirmary now. Should I erase her memory? Or initiate her as a Sister of the Faith?”

“What’s her background?”

“A slave. From a far-off city.”

Harapan’s eyes narrowed.

“Assign her to service in the church. It’s safer here than anywhere else. Let her live.”

“Understood.”