Hill instantly concluded that Gaia was no longer of any use.
No wonder she had been acting so erratically. Who knew which giant toad had kissed her cheek? If it was Ssendam, the most notorious of them all, that would explain her obsession with staging a classic Greek Pantheon tale in a lawful aristocratic world, as though she were possessed.
And the Lord of Hell had clearly been watching. He had seen Gaia escape from Hell, yet he had stood by without a word or even sent a devil in. Ssendam was a gigantic golden amoeba, a mass of chaos that constantly seeped outward. Any creature without sufficient mental resistance would go mad at the sight of him.
Asmodeus might not care whether devils lived or died, but he had never been one to hand his enemies a gift.
Hill pressed a hand to his forehead and laughed at himself. The Greek Gods were hardly decent people. Why would they so readily swallow the Mount Celestia gods' poison wrapped in honey?
Compared with a future as a giant toad—or worse, a mad giant toad—sleeping for a few million years was no great hardship!
The faint sense that something was wrong, which had nagged at Hill all along, vanished the moment he identified the being behind Gaia.
Uranus had preferred to break himself into fragments. Even when the God of Space-Time cut him away, he had put up no great resistance. It was probably because of those omnipresent toads.
Losing a chance to awaken was painful, certainly. But it was bearable compared with being implanted with endless toad eggs and reduced to a broodmother for little toads.
He had plenty of fragments, after all. If one chance had come, another could come too. The next might even be better.
Hill pursed