The ritual sparked to life; five blue Magic Arrays lifted like lanterns into the dusk.

As always, blue beams linked, threads weaving a net, and converged at the center. A blue halo spread, cold water pouring over stone.

It looked the same as before… then a splinter of wrongness pricked her.

“Huh?” Lucimia lifted her gaze, like a bird scenting storm.

Above the blue ring, a figure surfaced, a moon rising through mist. She was lithe, wrapped in a nun’s habit, fingers interlaced in prayer, eyes closed like sealed lilies.

Who was she?

Lucimia sprang up, surprise ringing like a bell, eyes fixed on the sky-borne form.

Were apparitions ever part of the Exorcism Ritual?

No; in every proper ritual, nothing like this stirred.

So what was happening now?

Lucimia glanced around; faces stayed calm, water unruffled by wind.

They looked as if this was ordinary, a familiar sunrise.

Her eyes found Bazeroth and her father, doubt cinched like a knot.

“That up there… what is it?” She pointed, her finger an arrow.

“Mm? That’s the Purification Deity, Vosh,” Bazeroth explained, voice steady as stone.

Purification Deity? Vosh?

Was the Deity female? The name sounded male. No—focus.

“Then why is she appearing? We’ve never had this,” she said, breath jagged like torn paper.

“What are you saying?” Bazeroth frowned, brows knitting like rope. “It’s always like this. Did you sleep badly?”

“Always?” Lucimia didn’t believe; her gaze slid to her father, hope flickering like a thin flame.

“Yeah, always,” Alvis stepped forward, concern soft as warm rain. “Lucimia, did you sleep poorly? Do you need to rest?”

“I… didn’t sleep well?” Lucimia blinked, lashes fluttering like wings. Recent nights were rough, but memory shouldn’t be ash.

She turned back to the Purification Deity, heart tight as a drum.

Suddenly, an image flashed, sharp as lightning.

That beautiful face tore into an octopus maw, pits like worm-eaten wood. Her long hair split into countless tentacles, seaweed thrashed by storm. Her clasped fingers became crossing tentacles, knotted like rope.

It was Elyssus’s shape.

“Uh!” Fear stabbed; Lucimia staggered back two steps, a leaf in a gust.

Her heel struck a chair with a clang; balance slipped; she dropped hard, pain blooming like fire.

“…It hurts.”

“What happened, Lucimia?” Her father lunged, hands steady as anchors, and pulled her up.

“I saw a monster…” Her voice fell thin, a wisp of mist.

“A monster? What kind? Where?” her father asked, urgency hammering like drums.

Bazeroth heard and stepped closer, questions crowding like crows. “What did you see?”

“I…” Lucimia halted, silence pooling like ink. She lifted her eyes to the sky again.

The figure looked normal now, a beautiful woman carved from light.

She blinked; the form stayed tender, moonlight on water.

“…Maybe I really didn’t sleep,” she murmured, doubt circling like a moth.

Bazeroth straightened, fingers combing his beard like a comb through straw. “You might truly be sleep-deprived. Why not go rest?”

“Mm, I see dark circles,” her father said, concern warm as a hearth. “Bad dreams? Poor sleep?”

He drew a vial from his pocket, glass glinting like frost. “Drink this. You’ll sleep soundly and have no nightmares.”

“Uh, mmm… thanks.” Lucimia took the potion, weight cool as a pebble in her palm.

The liquid shimmered purple, bruised grapes under glass. She wondered about the taste, curiosity a small ripple.

“Go back. Do you need me to see you home?”

“No, thank you, Father…” Dizziness swelled, the world warping like hot air over stone. Nausea climbed, a tide under her ribs.

“Yuna, we’re leaving.” Lucimia tugged Yuna’s hand, grip firm as a tether.

“Mm…” Yuna rose obediently, a quiet reed, and followed.

Once they’d left the crowd, Lucimia lowered her voice, words soft as rain. “Does the Exorcism Ritual ever show the Purification Deity? You’ve done this elsewhere. You should know, right?”

“Mm.” Yuna answered lightly, a bell in fog. “Luci, sis. Before, there was no image of the Purification Deity, so…”

“So, this is absolutely not normal, right?”

She fought the urge to retch, swallowing bile like bitter tea. She tried to lift her head, but a pressure pressed down, a mountain hand on her neck.

She drew a deep breath, gathered strength like a coiled spring, and snapped her head up. The force broke; her eyes reached the heavens.

The form was still a lovely woman. She blinked once; it warped into Elyssus’s horror.

She blinked twice; it became a woman again. Another blink; the pitted octopus skull returned.

Back and forth, the world shuttled like a loom.

At last, the shape stopped shifting. The final frame froze, and it chilled her to the bone.

Elyssus’s familiar evil smile ate half the sky, a grin like a crescent knife. A face riddled with holes, a back bristling with writhing tentacles, titanic limbs coiling like serpents.

“Heh-heh-heh.” He laughed, rust scraping glass.

Lucimia’s pupils shrank; shock crashed through her, a wave against cliffs.

Impossible.

How could this be?

Hadn’t she prevented Holy Water contamination? Hadn’t she wrecked the ritual?

Why could Elyssus still descend? Why?

This time, he came even earlier than the last two cycles, a storm before dawn.

What method did he use? Doesn’t his coming need sacrificed souls and a ritual? How were those met?

Lucimia whipped her gaze to Bazeroth, her father, her mother, Regino, Desty, and the crowd. Panic flickered like sparks.

Black fog boiled from their bodies, thick as kiln smoke.

On their skin, suction cups budded, then unfurled into octopus tentacles, sea growth taking root.

It matched the last two loops exactly, when they drank tainted Holy Water.

Wait—then Yuna too?

Lucimia looked back; Yuna’s arm had begun to change, flesh rippling like water.

How was that possible?!

She had swapped the Holy Water and watched for any stain, eyes sharp as knives. Was there another source?

But Cole’s Sacrificial Ritual failed. How did Elyssus speak across the dark and set the board?

And why did their forms differ from before?

Why were smiles painted on every face, bright as festival lanterns?

Why were they still drinking?

Why were they still laughing and cheering, voices bubbling like spring water?

Did you not notice these changes?

Did you not see Elyssus?

Did you not see your own skin turning?

“I… damn…” Pain flared; Lucimia grabbed Yuna tighter, clutching a lifeline.

She stamped her foot and launched into the air, wind peeling like silk. She hovered beside her father.

People saw her fly and gaped, surprise popping like firecrackers. They almost asked when she learned the Flight Spell, but she cut them off.

“Hey! What are you doing?!” Her words cracked like whips; no honorifics, no titles.

“What do you mean, doing?” Alvis blinked, confusion drifting like dandelion seeds. “We’re drinking. The Exorcism Ritual went great. We’re celebrating.”

“Yeah, what’s with you?” Vittor stepped up, hand linked with Aunt Julie like braided rope.

Their skin was turning into tentacles, ripples crawling like vines, yet they drank on, as if nothing was amiss.