The two soldiers snapped to it and cast Water Orb, dousing the blaze. Flame met water with a sharp hiss, like oil on hot iron, and white mist rolled up like ghost breath.

Steam drifted in soft sheets. In a short while, the fire guttered out, like a bonfire starved of air.

Starting a fire is easy; quenching it is hard. To smother the growing blaze, all three soldiers burned their mana dry, then sat on the ground, panting like fish on a riverbank.

“Did we… just earn merit? A promotion?”

“M-maybe.”

“Hey, you two. Look inside. There are scraps still moving.”

They peered inward. Sure enough, insects and rats were still crawling, like dark knots on wet stone.

“That’s simple. Smash ’em with a hammer.” The first soldier hefted his warhammer and strode in, steps heavy as drumbeats.

Up close, he squinted at the worms and rats. They stood there writhing, bodies twisting like red ropes. One became two. Two became four. Four kept doubling like frost racing across glass.

“What? They’re… splitting!” he shouted, then yanked the hammer up and brought it down.

Bang! A rat burst into a smear of pulp.

But the pulp kept splitting. From the bloody mash, seven or eight fresh rats peeled out, like seeds sprouting in fast forward.

Because the blow had scattered meat, it only helped the rats divide even more, like a shattered mirror birthing more shards.

They knitted into shape in a blink, squeaking shrilly, aggression like sparks in dry grass. They sprang up. One clamped onto his waist. Panic erupted in his chest before his hand moved; he slapped it away and spun. Terror iced his spine—his armor had a hole gnawed clean through.

That bite force was like iron shears. Reason snapped. With rats and worms splitting and lunging, he whirled the hammer in a mad wind. Each strike crushed them, and each strike made them multiply, like waves breaking into more foam.

“Aaah—save me!!” Pain finally bit into his calf. He screamed, voice raw as torn silk.

“What happened? What happened?”

“They split! Help me!”

“How do we even help?” The two soldiers behind him froze, minds blank as snowfields.

There had been four or five rats a breath ago. Now there were hundreds, a black-red swarm. Their division was terrifying. They crawled over the first soldier like a tide of ants and swallowed him whole, like night dousing a lantern.

His screams dwindled to nothing. The two in back traded a glance, the same thought striking like lightning—

Run.

They dropped their weapons and bolted, wild as startled deer. As they ran, they shouted, voices like bells, warning the others.

Behind them, rats and worms swelled in number. This time, every bite birthed another, like rain spawning ripples upon ripples.

Crimson worms and rats poured through the prison like a flood, making the ground tremble, and nothing living survived in their wake, the earth scoured bare.

It wasn’t only the soldiers. Watching through a Fuzzy Orb’s shared sight, even Lucimia felt her scalp prickle, like cold wind through wet hair.

That’s too many. Way too many.

And they’re still splitting, crazed and endless. Will they drown the whole city? Is this what the Plague Followers chose after the beast plan collapsed?

It looked even more deranged. She hadn’t expected Gene to self-detonate. The spot was perfect—packed with inmates who couldn’t resist. Easy pickings for rats and worms, fuel for their splitting.

If it had broken out in town, some folk could’ve used magic. The crowd would’ve scattered, teeth would’ve found less flesh, and the swarm might’ve been crushed before it formed.

Why didn’t I see this plan when I Devoured his memories? A frown rose before thought. Then clarity snapped into place. The Plague God likely erased Gene’s memory.

Plague is plague. Plague carries disease. Disease bears amnesia like a black blossom.

That tracks.

“If that’s true, then this plague gift is half an omnipotent power,” Lucimia murmured, voice low as mist.

Diseases are many. Each kind brings its own symptom, its own effect, like a cabinet of poisons.

She raised her estimate of the Plague God’s strength, the number climbing in her mind like a red line on a gauge.

“What’s going on, Lucimia?” Desty still braced against the wall. The tremors below made her sway like grass in wind.

“Gene self-detonated. There are a lot of rats and worms below. And they can split.”

“Huh? Then what do we do? What about the other two places?”

“The other two…” Lucimia spoke, then looked through the Fuzzy Orb’s shared sight. Shock hit her like a slap.

At the Mystic Return Smoke site and at the city wall, the Plague Followers did the same. They broke the lines and chose self-detonation first. Countless worms blasted out, but no rats.

These worms were different from the prison’s. They clung together, coalescing into a blood-red mass. A huge meat-sphere took shape, swelling like a storm cloud. No one knew what it would become.

Lucimia guessed: it would likely become a giant worm, a red dragon of rot.

Why are the Plague Followers this crazed? Bewitched or willing? For what oath or hunger?

“Damn. Plans limp; change sprints.”

Cold pooled in her chest. She’d meant to hunt the Plague Followers. She’d figured on bombs or special spells. Instead, they never meant to live. They blew themselves up and let worms finish the work.

It wrong-footed her, left a flush of awkward heat on her face.

With Desty’s strength, these worms were bad news. They split on impact. Only her Devouring Authority might check them.

The giant worm was about to set. Lucimia made the call without blinking. Through thought alone, she ordered the Fuzzy Orbs: devour the Plague Followers who hadn’t self-detonated yet; the rest, try to Devour the giant worm.

The Fuzzy Orbs took the order and leapt. Shadows skimmed the ground like swift fish. At a follower’s feet, a head rose from the dark. A mouth opened wide and swallowed. The shadow gulped itself flat again, hunting the next.

Meanwhile, their Devouring flowed back to Lucimia. Warmth ran through her like a spring current. Her spirit steadied; her limbs felt light. Energy surged back, a well refilling after rain.

The pressure from Elyssus eased. She could pull more power to meet it, threads of force gathering like storm lines.

Before, her erosion of Elyssus sat at five percent, creeping to 5.1, 5.2, then slumping back to five. Now the number held. It did not retreat.

“This is… absorption of energy…?”

Her heart mixed sweet and bitter. On one side, she was feeding on others through Devouring—even if they served a Dark Deity. On the other, she knew too much Authority Power, too much borrowed energy, led to losing control.

A small worry rippled through her, like a crack spreading through ice.