True Name and Identity

At this very moment, atop the disc-shaped Helios, blood surged and gathered, climbing upward along Publius's towering pillar of light toward the axis of the entire world.

Like the Tower of Babel that had once risen against the gods.

An obsession passed down through thousands of years reappeared at this moment. The fruit countless alchemists had dreamed of lay before them, reaching toward the sky, toward that lofty sun.

Publius—no, every alchemist upon Helios; those souls that had sunk into hell, those departed failures, and those wills burdened by unwillingness and pain—all stretched their hands toward it.

Even though, after such a long passage of time, this achievement had gradually lost its meaning.

But the mountain was still there.

Following the path once left behind by the gods, the alchemists began their ascent once more!

Boom!

Upon the tower of light, the drinking alchemist stiffened for a moment, sighed, and tipped back his head to drain the last sweet drop.

"What a pity..."

He murmured softly, closed his eyes, and silently turned into ashes.

His strength had already run dry, yet the next Publius raised his eyes once more and threw himself into the torrent without hesitation, until even he was burned to nothing by that overly scorching blaze.

Then came another.

And another...

Countless divided souls, bearing the same obsession, threw themselves into the furnace. Their ashes laid the foundation of the tower, sending that great bloody hand upward, upward, ever upward.

Until at last, heedless of the sun's scorching radiance, it seized that insubstantial proof of godhood tight in its grasp!

Inch by inch, it dragged it down.

Like something so ravenous that it wished to swallow even a god whole.

"Great Spirit of the gods, I offer you every last one of my 'sacrifices'—"

Publius was burning.