There Are No Gods

The solemn, reverent atmosphere inside the Stone Tower was swept away.

Like a pool of blood bursting from a severed artery, thick blood eroded and swallowed everyone. Everywhere one looked was an enchanting, lurid crimson.

Crack!

An utterly abrupt sound rang out, especially piercing amid the desolation, as crisp as a silver bottle shattering.

It interrupted every devoutly praying believer. They instinctively looked up toward the source of the sound—the enormous dome at the very top of the Stone Tower!

The glass dome on the tower's highest level had shattered, and shards of glass rained down upon the crowd below.

As if a giant hand had lifted the curtain, howling wind surged in from above, sending the white cloths draped over their heads fluttering wildly.

"Everyone." That familiar gentle voice entered their ears. "Good evening."

Before the shattered glass dome, a figure stood suspended in midair, with a bright full moon behind him.

Symbiotic Tissue burst from Yun Chuan's body, clinging to the surrounding walls like webs of flesh and blood. He stood at the very center of that crisscrossing web, looking down upon the many believers beneath him.

The silvery moonlight behind him illuminated the surroundings with him at its center, clearly revealing the greedy, ugly faces of the believers. All the filth and depravity within the Stone Tower lay exposed.

On the altar below.

Kousan raised his head to look at Yun Chuan's face, yet showed no movement or reaction.

"Why have you come here?" After a long while, he asked in a puzzled tone, "Have we failed to receive you properly?"

That kindly smile remained on his face, as though it had grown there.

Throughout his long life, his hands had been stained with far too many sins—enough to warn anyone who approached him and reveal just how vicious and terrifying he truly was.

Yet he had cunningly put on a mask whose edges and gaps had been tightly sewn shut, hiding everything beneath that kindly smiling mask.

Like an anglerfish in the ocean, dangling a bright lantern to lure ignorant fry into its sharp fangs, where they would be swallowed into its bottomless belly.

"Receive me? This is how you treat your guests?"

Yahiko, who had been deceived, had never felt so furious. Staring fixedly at that unchanging, horrifying smile, he demanded, "What are you trying to do to that woman?!"

Do to her?

The questioned old man seemed puzzled. He lowered his head to look at the furious Yahiko in the distance and frowned. "We are offering sacrifice to our 'Lord,' welcoming the birth of the 'Divine Child.'"

As his words fell, the believers raised their heads, gazing devoutly and fervently at the woman on the altar. They looked pityingly yet greedily at her swollen belly, their prayers seeming to voice their longing.

They awaited the Divine Child's birth, to boil it in raging fire, to divide and eat it, to be with their "Lord"!

The Divine Child was "undying," and they too could become "undying"!

"Praise our Lord!"

Listening to the fanatical, crazed chanting around him, Yahiko felt like he was about to explode with rage. The heat in his chest scorched his throat until it seemed to smoke.

"Praise our Lord! The Lord and I..."

Kousan was about to speak, but abruptly fell silent.

A nearly transparent line had appeared across the side of his face. His skin slowly split open, exposing vivid red flesh beneath, while bright blood slid down from the wound and soaked his face.

On the wall behind him, a crimson spike had sunk deeply into the stone, shattering the hard bricks and scattering white dust.

"..."

Kousan's smile stiffened somewhat, and the prayer in his mouth never came out.

He merely raised his right thumb and lightly ran the knuckle over the wound, then wiped it across his lips. A flash of obsessed relish passed through his eyes.

That streak of blood healed and restored itself completely in mere seconds, visibly before their eyes.

"Yahiko."

Without even looking at him, Yun Chuan lowered his head toward the enraged Yahiko, his tone meaningful. "I'll give you three seconds."

With that, he raised three fingers and softly said, "Three."

Only three seconds.

Hearing that, Yahiko took a deep breath.

He knew very well that these three seconds had been left for him.

"Can't you see it?"

Yahiko grabbed the nearest believer beside him, shaking her shoulders forcefully as he shouted, "He's a liar! He's deceiving you! There are no gods in this world!"

If there were "gods" in this world, how could his father, who had been kind his entire life, have been so mercilessly murdered, leaving behind only a cold tombstone?

If there were "gods" in this world, why had there been no response when he wept and begged the gods not to take away his sickly mother's life?

If there were "gods" in this world, as They listened from on high to the endless wails and cries amid the flames of war, could They truly feel not even the slightest compassion?

No! There were no gods!

At the highest point, Yun Chuan shook his head, folded one finger, and softly said, "Two."

"Why do you take lives?" Yahiko looked at them and asked weakly, "Why do you trample on life?"

"Because this is the 'Lord's' divine decree!"

The old woman beside Kousan raised her hands, turned around, and lifted her head toward the evil god's stone statue. Her expression and voice were filled with madness. "Trample on life! Take lives! Please our Lord! Grant us abundant grace!"

"Offer them to the Lord!"

Her voice rose from low to high, until it reached a shrill crescendo.

The icy chill above their heads was already enough to stir humanity's instinct for survival. The nerves of the many believers twitched frantically, sending signals to their brains to flee.

Yet strangely, none of them ran.

They instead displayed unparalleled unity and something akin to faith, slowly closing in on Yahiko and Nagato while singing an unsteady hymn.

"Death is rebirth!"

"The Lord grants us abundant grace! Death is rebirth!"

If this had been a story told through legendary murals and written words, it would have been pilgrims offering sacrifices to the gods.

Watching all this grotesque absurdity unfold, Yahiko felt as though he had fallen into an ice cellar.

The fury in his chest was gradually smothered by that coldness, spreading across his skin, his jaw, and his ears. The chill continued spreading throughout his entire body.

Please? Please the gods?

What was pleasurable about any of this? What was interesting about it?

"You people..."

Yahiko slowly closed his eyes and murmured painfully, "What do you even think life is?"

The people before him had been completely brainwashed. Perhaps every one of them had their own pain and regrets, so they could only place their hopes in these so-called "gods."

And inflict their own misfortune upon others.

Drip.

A crimson droplet fell from the top of the tower, smashing against the ground and splashing outward—clear and piercing enough to interrupt the fanatical chanting.

Then came a torrential downpour. The sound of raging rain somehow filled the tower, washing over every believer's eyes.

They instinctively flared their nostrils, yet could smell an endless bloody stench swirling within that rainstorm.

It was not a torrential downpour at all. It was only scarlet blood!

The many believers instinctively looked upward, only to see countless twisted black shadows falling down.

Boom!!

First came the torso of an old man missing his limbs and head, crashing onto the altar and crushing the skulls beneath it into a depression.

It was twisted as if it had been torn apart by brute force, the flesh and bone at the severed ends distorted and spiraling as rotten meat burst forth.

Then, under the moon's faint light above.

Heads of elderly people still wearing fanatical expressions, along with mangled limbs and severed arms, poured down like sand.

If Yahiko opened his eyes, he would recognize that not long ago, this face had worn a gentle, kindly smile, and had looked at him as though he were its own child.

Everyone could smell the savage violence on them. That terrifying, suffocating threat pressed clearly against their faces, enough to make anyone tremble, clench their teeth, and flee in terror.

Yet no one present chose to run. Instead, the prayers became even more devout.

Death was not frightening. Death was rebirth.

"Time's up." That indifferent voice sounded like the Soul Reaper calling for their lives.

Yun Chuan looked down at Yahiko and the believers below. Blood-red mist shrouded him, condensing into a crimson mask over his face, while more crimson tentacles covered in spikes extended from behind him.

The next instant, countless sharp, ear-piercing explosions resounded throughout the tower.