Chains (2)

On the other side of the gate was a vast hall that seemed to be part of a Cathedral. It was strange, given her experiences in this world, but it didn't warrant her suspicion.

The hall itself raised her suspicions. It lacked the elements of a cathedral hall. There were no pews or religious statues for worship. Unfit for a Cathedral, unsuitable for worship. An empty, white hall with not a single variation.

Above the chandeliers and behind the pillars, where no light cascaded, there were no shadows. She attempted to connect with a shadow in the hall but failed to establish a connection. There were no shadows visible, not even in the hidden crevices.

She glanced back and saw the gate that brought her here shrinking—now just a black dot in space. Before she could react, it disappeared and sealed her way out.

A frown appeared as she realized the priest who had been in front of her when walking through the gate had disappeared. Her dragon vision once again failed to detect his presence or anyone else's. She couldn't see through the walls that seemed ordinary, no matter how long she examined them. The material of the room obstructed her.

A shadowless hall with no exit or people in sight, perception was blocked. It seemed like they anticipated her arrival and set a trap. Whether it was God's intervention, foresight, or an unknown factor, she needed to escape. Her intuition guided her, and she followed it without hesitation. Above the mission and the war between Gods and Demons, her survival took precedence.

She burst into a sprint, unleashing all her strength. The floor cracked underfoot as she closed the distance between herself and the nearest wall. In an instant, she reached it and thrust her fist, imbuing it with a thick layer of hellfire.

Boom~

The wall remained intact without any breaks or cracks. Instead, it flung her hand back, dispelling the hellfire upon contact. Her wrist and fingers were broken and disfigured. Her knuckles were burned, exposing the bone. The pain followed, but she did not register it in her mind. Rough and aggressive, it attacked her. The pain didn't originate from the broken fingers or wrist, but from her knuckles. A transparent white aura enveloped it, clawing at her wound, hungry for it.

She conjured a dagger and sliced her hand off. Blood flowed from her wrist, but darkness took over, forming a new hand unharmed and devoid of aura. She flexed her hand a few times, adjusting to it.

She glared behind her, sensing a presence.

A woman with dirty blonde hair. White, distant eyes, partially obscured by a webbed white veil. She wore a white formal dress and a chained necklace with a golden sun pendant. Four white chains, two in front and two in back, caught her garment as it swayed from her previous movement.

Are they the same as the priest's?

The chains were identical in color, shape, and size. Upon closer inspection, Ayla noticed a subtle difference despite the identical surface. They had an aura. An aura that exuded the same danger as the walls.

Mya, the prophet. The hardest to reach. Ayla conjured a second dagger.

"You noticed. It took you long enough." Mya laughed. "…Demon. Or should I call you Assassin? You are an assassin from Asteria."

Asteria? Ayla heard the name for the first time and suspected it was Cynthia's organization. It had to be. But how did Mya know this? How did she discover her affiliation?

"What about it?" Ayla asked.

"Nothing much. I'm just surprised, that's all. I've heard rumors and read books about the wars between the Pantheons, and Asteria stands out as unique among them. Out of all the organizations that have emerged for assassination work, none compare to it." She paced back and forth, the chains swaying. Asteria remains standing, and its location remains undiscovered. Not a single demon has betrayed them. Not one of them lived long enough to reveal it. When captured, they killed themselves without hesitation."

Ayla watched her, following her movements with open distrust mixed with disinterest. In truth, she was interested. She wanted to learn more about Asteria, but not at the moment, especially with an adversary. "What does that have to do with me?"

Mya stopped pacing to regard Ayla. "But I feel like today will be different." She disregarded her question. "You will betray them. You will provide the information needed to destroy Asteria, causing it to fall. You will assist us in destroying a supporting pillar of the Dark Pantheons. You don't have a choice."

"W—?"

"Why, you ask? That's simple. You can't leave here, and you can't kill yourself. Not in here. It has been tested against a noble demon in this world, but its effectiveness against an Asteria demon is not guaranteed. However, I believe it would work for you. You came to this world to gain experience, but why did Asteria send you here instead of any other place?"

Ayla wet her lips and tightened her grip around her daggers, wanting to speak, but she remained silent.

She grinned sideways, answering herself. "They sent you because you're weak—too weak to kill demigods, let alone the gods who control this war. They sent you here because the Light Pantheon wouldn't think they would. To a place that neither pantheon focuses on, far from the battlefield, where the weakest of both pantheons fight to the death. To battle through various worlds until you achieve Demi-God status. Then, you will join the actual battle. Such a simple tactic, yet so effective, until..." At this, Mya appeared behind Ayla's left side, her grin fading, and wrapped her right arm around Ayla's neck. "… now. All that remains is to inquire—"

Ayla swung her left dagger towards Mya's veiled eye. It pierced; she thought it pierced. Upon touching the veil, the blade shattered and turned to ash. Her fist struck Mya, knocking her back a few steps. Ayla pulled back her hand.

Ayla stared at it. Half of it was missing; the other half burned to ash, its ashes flaking onto the floor below her.

It's like the walls.

She severed her hand again and regrew it, conjuring another dagger.

"Damnit. That hurt!" She staggered, covering her eye as blood drenched the left half of her face. The top of her face appeared sunken, but it didn't seem sufficient. "I was going to..." she spat out a bloodied tooth. "As the Head Prophet of the Church, I was taught to show mercy to others and relieve them of further suffering, even when dealing with Demons. But you leave me with no choice."

She fell hard on her side, the chains rattling against the ground and each other, and then she disappeared.

A blow to Ayla's stomach sent her flying, gasping for breath. She landed, nearly dropping the daggers, but she managed to keep hold of them. Her stomach felt like molten lava, intense and heavy, but she remained conscious. Her arm could be severed, regenerated, and restored, but not her torso. She would have to live with the pain until the aura inside her stopped burning to heal the wound.

How? How did she do that? The priest then; the prophet now. What allows them to evade my perception? And the pain. What is that glove? She sought answers. Answers she didn't have were obtainable, with Mya as one of the targets.

Cynthia scan Mya.

[I'll… try.]

Did something happen? No additional response came; only three screens appeared.

[Mya]

[Level: 478]

[Occupation: Head Prophet of Castria, Apostle of Castria]

Level 478? It's not about her level or her strength. Could it be...?

[Castatem]

[Default form: Veil]

[Secondary Form: Gloves]

[Description: A veil made from the essence of Castria, the Goddess of Purity. Individuals considered impure will be burned upon contact until they are free of all impurities. Demons will die.]

[User Set Restriction: Demons that the user chooses to spare will not die.]

That veil. I need to destroy it. And the chains? Her eyes landed on the third window.