Netherlake. The Lake of the Dead.
Legend says when a living soul passes, its spirit returns to the Netherworld and becomes a single drop of Netherlake water—joining countless departed souls to form this vast, silent expanse.
Thus, Netherlake is also called the Lake of Souls. Once a soul arrives here, dissolution is inevitable.
Hence, the Cult of the Death Goddess teaches: death is the absolute end. No rebirth. No cycle.
Noah wasn’t sure if the legend held truth.
He knew many grand myths stemmed from era-limited thinking—mysteries branded divine or demonic simply because they defied understanding.
Still… a lake truly lay beneath him.
And if the Goddess of Death truly dwelled at its depths? Well… he wouldn’t mind a look.
As the old saying went: *Might as well see it through since I’m already here.*
Noah coiled Anna securely around his waist. He willed his spirit form to float upward against gravity, faced the mirror-still lake surface, and took a slow breath.
With practiced ease, he dove in.
...
...
The water had no taste.
No texture.
As Noah pierced the surface, the tranquil Netherlake didn’t ripple.
Like passing through a misty veil—no deep-water pressure, no suffocation. His spirit moved freely, lightly.
Countless faint green lights flickered everywhere—tens of thousands. Darting, yet keeping distance, like fish fleeing a shark.
Noah focused on them, trying to discern their forms.
But they dodged not just his movement—*his gaze too*. The moment he concentrated, they scattered beyond sight.
As if even a glance was taboo.
Frowning slightly, Noah stopped trying. Descending deeper into the dark, he asked the belt around his waist, “What *are* these?”
Anna watched the drifting lights and answered honestly, “Dunno. I don’t always see them—sometimes they’re here, sometimes gone. Sometimes few… sometimes as many as our guild’s unpaid debts.”
Vivid analogy.
Noah’s tone held mild curiosity. “Your cult’s scriptures never mention them?”
Anna hesitated. “Not once. I brought it up, but the church elders refused to revise doctrine. Called me attention-seeking—adding ‘weird lore’ to the Goddess’s domain. Said it was blasphemy.”
Her voice tightened with lingering frustration.
Noah felt her coil squeeze his waist a little tighter, stealing his breath.
“But what *really* pisses me off? They didn’t believe me. Wouldn’t even change the Goddess’s statue!”
“Statue?” Noah blinked.
He’d never seen the Goddess of Death’s likeness.
But Kale the God of Holy Light’s statue? He’d glimpsed it fetching Pascal from church—a majestic, spear-wielding male figure radiating holy light, so awe-inspiring one instinctively wanted to kneel.
If the Goddess of Death led dark cults… her statue should’ve been equally imposing.
“You wanted to *change* it?” Noah asked, surprised. “Why?”
“’Cause she doesn’t look like that!” Anna shot back, indignant. “Legends paint her as a hooded figure with a scythe… but that’s *wrong*.”
From her words, Noah pictured the statue. Gazing into the dark water lit by flickering green, he asked, “So you’ve *seen* her. What does she look like?”
“Hard to describe. Just… not like the statue.”
Coiled as a belt, Anna trembled faintly in displeasure.
Then the ghost-fire in her eyes flared. “I can’t explain it… but *you* can see her now.”
Noah squinted. “See what?”
“The Goddess of Death’s true form.”
...
Anna’s whisper brushed his ear.
Darkness sharpened into clarity.
Countless green lights swirled from all directions toward the lakebed, blazing into brilliant beacons.
A colossal rib rose from the depths—flatter in curve than any human bone. From afar, it resembled a giant bone-white scimitar thrust from the earth.
Green light bathed it. Utterly bare. No trace of flesh. It felt *meant* to be this way.
Twelve such pairs. Twenty-four ribs total.
Exactly matching human count.
Silent on the lakebed, linked by a sternum nearly a kilometer long—thick, vast, immense.
A primordial giant’s skeleton.
Yet eerily incomplete: no skull, no spine, no lower body.
Only ribs and sternum.
No cut marks. As if born this way.
Noah fell silent.
Swallowing his awe, he pointed at the haunting bone cluster. “Is this… the Goddess’s palace?”
“No.”
Anna’s voice was calm. “This *is* the Goddess of Death.”
...
Noah now questioned this world’s entire pantheon.
Kale the God of Holy Light at least had a humanoid form.
The Goddess of Death? Just ribs.
*Fitting for Anna’s deity*, he mused.
“Now I get why they refused to change the statue,” Noah said, suddenly sympathetic. “You wanted believers praying daily to a rack of ribs?”
“What’s wrong with that?” Anna huffed. “The Stellar Order prays to a pitch-black bell! Can’t our Goddess have unique style?”
Noah blinked. *Even the Stellar Order goes that far?*
He set the bell aside, staring at the massive ribs. “Two questions.”
“Shoot.”
“First: how’d you *know* this is her?”
“Faith!” Anna declared without hesitation. “I’m a loyal believer! Blindfolded, I’d *smell* her presence—that overwhelming aura of death! …Wait, *death* aura. Not stench!”
Noah glanced warily at the distant ribs.
*Good. Still.*
He genuinely feared Anna’s loose lips might anger the Goddess and cut this rare divine journey short.
“Second question.” Noah’s tone turned serious. “How’d you know she’s *female*?”
With just ribs? Impossible.
“Well… it’s a *feeling*,” Anna admitted, less certain now. “I’ve never heard her voice. But the bishops say it’s ‘gentle as Netherlake’… so they call her female.”
Noah hummed softly. Said nothing.
After a brief pause, he descended toward the space beneath the ribs.
Anna opened her mouth—then closed it.
She’d wanted to warn him: *This is the limit. Go deeper, and the scenery shifts. The Goddess recedes. Next thing you know—you’re respawned or tossed back to the surface.*
*Do not profane the divine.*
But as Noah sank further… the surroundings *did* change.
Not as she remembered.
Water around him warped—*evaporated*.
White foam bloomed, then vanished into distortion.
Phenomena multiplied. The distortion spread.
Green lights scattered like prey sensing a demon. A few slower ones were swallowed—snuffed out instantly.
*What?!*
Anna’s eyes widened. She strained upward, stunned Noah showed *zero* reaction.
Then—silence.
Foam vanished. Distortion stilled.
Peace returned.
Noah settled gently on the lakebed.
Anna numbly scanned their surroundings. They stood *inside* the rib cluster. The kilometer-long sternum hovered above, twelve rib pairs framing a vast, hollow thoracic space.
A suffocating aura of death washed over her—stronger than during the bishop’s blessing. The Goddess had never felt this close.
She’d truly arrived.
Inside the Goddess of Death’s… well, *ribcage*.
As awe swelled, something erupted before her eyes.
“HOLY CRAP, GUILD MASTER?!” she yelped.
“What’s with the panic?” Noah murmured, about to flick her forehead—then looked down.
Under the solid earth, a skeletal arm writhed.
It burst free, sharp finger bones slashing the soil with predatory fury… like a windshield wiper scraping air.
Anna’s fear eased slightly. “What’s it *doing*?”
Noah stayed calm. Glanced at his fading lower half.
“I think… it’s trying to grab my ankle.”
Problem: he was floating.
No ankle existed to grab.
*Awkward.*
Like a horror-movie ghost waiting in a cabin… only for the victim to cancel last minute.
Before relief could settle, the arm’s owner seemed to realize something.
It planted a palm, heaved its full skeletal frame from the dirt, and locked hollow sockets onto the trespasser.
Jaw snapped open. Teeth clattered—sharp, shrill.
Cracks spiderwebbed the ground.
Skeletal arms sprouted up like mushrooms after rain.
