"Ugh... mm..."

The familiar pain returned, sharp as winter thorns under the skin.

"Don't rush, Lucimia," Elyssus said, voice rolling like a deep tide. A tentacle hauled her up to its eye, close as a looming moon.

A tentacle had pierced her chest; she hung midair, trembling like a torn banner, staring into a murky pupil larger than a person.

"Remember what I said last cycle?" Elyssus flexed its tendrils, swaying like sea grass in a storm. "From the cycle before that, absorbing souls gave me possession, like a cloak slipping over flesh."

"After last cycle's feast, guess what I unlocked?"

"..." Lucimia refused to answer, her silence a last ember in the wind.

"Not guessing? How dull." Elyssus feigned loss, then grinned crooked, teeth like wet knives. It pulled her closer and spoke low as thunder.

"I unlocked a way to talk to the Deceiver without any Sacrificial Ritual. Hahahaha! Didn't see that coming?"

The first half was a whisper, thin as mist; the last broke into loud laughter, crashing like waves on stone.

Lucimia's pupils jolted, shock blooming like dawn. Clarity cut in, yet a nameless fear coiled round her heart like ivy.

If no ritual was needed, then Elyssus could reach the Deceiver—meaning Bazeroth had known she'd go to Val Town, like a hunter reading tracks.

That explained why Bazeroth could stake out her first trip, waiting like a crouched wolf.

It also explained the second time—how he sensed her casting, like smoke finding fire.

Not some "fellow mage intuition"; Elyssus had told him, like a whisper in the reeds.

It explained why, when Lucimia asked Desty about a Magic Array in Val Town, Desty said none had been activated—because the net was already woven.

Several knots loosened at once, clicking like beads in a prayer string.

But one remained: how had Elyssus appeared, storm surf from a clear sky?

"Wondering, aren't you?" Elyssus chuckled, a sound like wet gravel. "Who started the summoning? Where was it set?" Then, like dangling bait, it added, "Look down."

At that, Lucimia lowered her gaze—and froze like river glass. The town below had become a river of blood, red as autumn maples.

Octopuses rampaged, hunting townsfolk like wolves in a shoal. The Church's Holy Knights fought them, steel clashing like hail on slate.

Even Alvis stepped in, his blade bright as noon. Yet two blocked him—Bazeroth, and... Vittor, like stones wedged in a stream.

What was this? Vittor stood with Bazeroth, like a shadow choosing its master.

Confusion knotted in Lucimia, tight as rope. Then the knot snapped like a twig.

Alvis took a swing; Vittor's head flew, clean as a scythe through grass. The body fell straight. In the next breath, a familiar figure surfaced like a buoy.

The Blue Ringed Octopus revealed itself, rings glowing like cursed halos.

Her eyes widened like twin moons. Shock tugged her wounds; blood bubbled up, red as poppies.

"Cough... cough..." The sound scraped like stones.

When had the Blue Ringed Octopus replaced Vittor? She had probed him these days, and the memories checked out, neat as stacked tiles.

Wait—if Elyssus can communicate without a Sacrificial Ritual, then he can whisper to his own Evil Entity octopus, like tides speaking to tides.

Elyssus can read Lucimia's memories; he could read Vittor too, then coordinate with the Blue Ringed Octopus like puppeteer and strings.

That made sense, the pieces fitting like bones into a joint.

Lucimia had searched for the Blue Ringed Octopus boy all over town, and he never showed—vanished like a fish into weeds.

She even asked her father to help, lifting that plea like a torch. He thought she'd fallen for some boy, shock flashing like lightning across his face.

Whatever he felt, he searched with all his strength, dredging up several boys like nets hauling silver. Lucimia watched them—none were the black-clad one; all felt like empty masks.

That boy had vanished as if swallowed by misted air. Now it seemed Elyssus had hidden him, like a pearl clenched in ink.

But how was this a hint? It read like smoke.

Did Bazeroth start it? Where would he build a summoning? She didn't even know summoning terms, fog thick as swamp.

Yet if a summoning had started, that meant Elyssus had absorbed energy again, drinking like a leech.

So many octopuses below—did he replace them in secret over time, threads laid in the dark?

"Cough... cough..." Lucimia spat more blood, her breath thin as paper.

She felt herself failing, like a candle guttering in wind. Teleportation Magic was down; Yuna couldn't carry them away, wings broken.

Reversion wouldn't trigger, a clock without hands.

Fear rose first; then a thought surfaced like a black fin—this Reversion had a flaw.

The Reversioner can't die; if death comes, it's over—unlike those who reset on death, this Reversion breaks like glass under a hammer.

And if you're controlled, it won't trigger; the line stops like a river dammed.

That means a true dead end, a blade to the throat.

"Is it... a dead end?" Lucimia murmured, voice drifting like a leaf in wind.

"A dead end? No, no." Elyssus shook its octopus head, wobbling like a lantern in surf. "I told you, Lucimia—I will let you Reversion."

It stretched another tendril and plucked off Yuna's blindfold, soft as stealing night.

"Ke-ke-ke, Lucimia, you know? At first that Reversion was nasty, so I planned to erase that pink-haired girl."

"But when I found Reversion let me absorb energy again and again, I was delighted, like rain on parched sand."

"So I thought, since I can keep drinking, I won't kill you. I'll give you hope, like crumbs to a starving bird, let you Reversion more."

"I tried controlling you too. You didn't fall. Then fine—you stay awake and taste despair, bitter as night wind."

"Hahaha, Lucimia, you know? Thanks to you and that girl, I came back to this world so fast—like a tide tearing a dune."

"I, Elyssus, am the Dark Deity you released yourself. And the hell below—it's crafted by your hands. What a devoted Dark Deity you are!"

Elyssus's mad words reached Lucimia clearly, ringing like iron. But she couldn't speak now; her tongue felt like stone.

Her lids dragged like lead; she watched blood splash below, watched her family skewered by Elyssus's easy tendrils.

Was all of this her doing? The thought pricked like a thorn.

No... it was Elyssus... not her... The denial fluttered like trapped wings.

Yet his words flooded her mind like silt, and they seemed almost right.

Objectively, she and Yuna had fueled Elyssus to grow stronger, like fire fed with oil.

Maybe... it's my fault?

If she'd just run, it would be fine—running was the truest path, swift as water. Fighting back? Stupid, like ramming a cliff.

Her many Reversions had only sharpened Elyssus, whetting him like a blade on stone.

Is that true? Is it my fault? The questions circled like hawks.

No, wrong—the thought struck like a bell. Resistance is right; humans need that heart of resistance, like grass pushing through snow.

Then what to blame? The fog parted like curtains.

Blame... yes. Blame that she didn't kill Yuna at the first moment.

That was it, clicking like a pin. When Yuna was first sacrificed to her side, her first thought had been to kill her, cold as a knife.

She'd thought that impulse meant corruption, like mold on fruit. Looking now, maybe it was right, like a thorn that warns the rose.

Right or wrong? Which is it? The doubt spun like a tossed coin.

As she thought, white light bloomed before her eyes, clear as dawn breaking. Yuna was forced to trigger the Reversion, like a lever yanked.