Evil Gods Don’t Save People

Humanity and time can't coexist peacefully.

Thus, time was harsh on His humanity.

Loneliness was bearable.

As for loss, He was somewhat used to it by now.

However, what really made Him break is—

"Mr. Fool."

He would have rather been lonely.

"Mr. Fool?"

Are you sure breaking that loneliness was really a good idea?

"Are you listening?"

His thoughts were interrupted by Miss Justice's concerned question.

"No, sorry," He answered apologetically.

Miss Justice shook her head and repeated, "Since you have no followers, can't we just spread your name in secret? Don't you want followers?"

The Fool's face became solemn, the temperature dropping rapidly as He said in a low voice, "Never."

The three Beyonders were a little intimidated by Mr. Fool's firm statement and gave up immediately; Miss Justice in particular guessed that there should be deeper reasons behind it judging by the Fool's actions.

Sometimes, the Fool would rather that the Tarot Club were scared of Him instead.

"My Lord."

The Fool couldn't help but remember the past.

"You are ——"

He really didn't want followers.

***

As if to answer the Fool's desperate wish to not have any followers, a crimson star lit up, carrying a prayer.

If there was a god, then that person clearly didn't like him.

Nevermind, God exists. The Fool should remember to hit Him at least once one of these days.

Mr. Fool sighed and listened to the prayer.

In the crimson star, he saw an old man with white hair dressed in a classic black robe.

'How did this old man know my name?'

He didn't appear to possess any item related to the Fool pathway.

Seeing the influence of the Hidden Sage on him, the Fool had an answer.

'I see.'

Did the Hidden Sage mix the Fool's honorific name along with the knowledge He imparted into that Beyonder's brain?

But then, why did only one person recite his name by now?

How suspicious.

The Fool felt annoyed.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw people—presumably Nighthawks—knock at the old man's door; their presence most likely caused by fate aka Adam or the Quill of Alzuhood's influence.

With how pointless this situation seemed, it should be the latter.

One of them took a step forward and pulled on the rope connected to the bell within the building.

Clink! Clang!

A pleasant chime resounded in the house as it broke the heavy silence.

The Fool's eyes alternated between the situation in the house and the people outside, already guessing how it would go.

The Nighthawks present were a good-looking young man with green pupils and a poetic temperament as well as a man with light brown hair, a straight nose, sharp gray eyes and a receding hairline.

After trying several times and waiting for a few minutes, they didn't hear any footsteps approaching the door.

Suddenly, a melody came from within the building. It was the music from a piano. It was like a silent lake veiled by a thin mist beneath the moonlight.

The expression of the man with a receding hairline became abnormally stern and grave. The poet's heart sank as well.

Liquid then began flowing out from the gap beneath the door.

The stream of liquid was transparent and pure at first before it became dyed crimson.

At that moment, there was a light cough from within the house. The old man spoke with a raspy voice, "Dunn, why are you here?"

The so-called Dunn's gray eyes were extremely deep. His mellow voice replied calmly, "I heard that you're sick, so we came to visit."

How strange.

He was now witnessing some Nighthawks dealing with their companion who lost control.

Was this a drama?

What was the purpose of receiving a prayer from such a man?

The Fool leaned back.

Could He have saved the man? Probably. But that wouldn't benefit Him in any way.

Moreover, if the old man continued trying to resurrect his dead wife, he would still end up dying from his foolishness one day or another.

That was the price for believing in an evil god.

"…All this time, I've never hurt anyone, nor have I thought of hurting anyone! I never—I never betrayed the secrets of the Nighthawks, not even one! At the most—at the most, I've made claims for undeserving expenses. I really haven't committed any evil!"

The words of a dying man.

How pathetic.

"Dunn, Leonard, go back. Go back. Wait till tomorrow—by tomorrow, I'll be back to normal. I swear—I swear to the Goddess, I wouldn't harm anyone. Really!"

The Fool watched such a man.

Dunn closed his eyes and asked extremely gently, "What do you plan on doing? What have you been trying to do all this while?"

"Me?" The old man was confused at first before he described with a tone filled with hope, "I'm trying to resurrect Celeste. Dunn, I found a way, I'm on the right track!"

You can't resurrect people.

Only gods will resurrect.

"You should have heard about it. Back then, I made a mistake during the ritualistic magic to treat her illness, so I failed. I failed to save her. I now know it was because I had yet to master mysticism. But now, I now have enough knowledge and experience to complete everything! It's regrettable that I wasn't inspired by the maxim of the Mystery Pryers and Daly's example. I missed the best opportunity. If-if I was a High-Sequence Beyonder, all of this would become extremely easy." As he spoke, Old Neil's voice sounded tearful, "No, I cannot give up again… Dunn, go back. Go back, please. I beg of you."

What is lost can't be recovered.

Dunn lifted the corner of his lips forcefully and said, "Yes, it's a great idea. Old Neil, let us in. Perhaps we can help you."

He wasn't having a good time this week.

"…Dunn, are you still not willing to let me off the hook?" Old Neil pleaded, "Go back, just go back. I'll return to normal tomorrow, really. Dunn, I swear I'll never steal your coffee beans again. Leonard, I swear I won't make you help me with my undeserved claims! Really!"

The man named Leonard was silent, clenching his hands into fists and gritting his teeth.

Dunn lowered his head before lifting it up again. "Old Neil, you're misunderstanding. We're here to visit you. You are our teammate. You're sick, and you aren't well. We definitely needed to visit you. Open the door. Let us see you, so that we can be certain. If you're really okay, we'll return immediately. As you know, there are especially many missions recently. We have to monitor the asylum while we take care of various other sudden incidents."

Old Neil hesitated for a moment before saying, "There's really nothing serious about my condition, really. I'll recover by tomorrow."

The bloody water that flowed out through the gap under the door went down the stairs, towards the stone path, and onto the garden's soil.

"Old Neil, we've known each other for about fifteen years now, right? We've worked on countless missions together. I'm really concerned and worried for you. I have to see you with my own eyes before I'll be at ease," Dunn said gently.

"… Alright," Old Neil pouted. "There's really nothing wrong with me."

With a creak, the door opened slowly.

The carpet in the lobby was red and sticky, covered in blood and hair while the living room's floor, ceiling, round table, piano, and chairs were all covered in the same disgusting, sticky and hairy liquid.

Old Neil's head hung in the air, connected to the ceiling by a thick liquid. His forehead and cheeks each had a pair of eyes. They were cold and ruthless eyes with no eyelashes.

The piano's keys were dancing on their own, playing a melodious tune.

"Dunn, look. I'm really okay," Old Neil said with a radiant smile. "Leonard, you think so too, right?"

The poet—who by the way had a parasitic angel of the Error Pathway in his body—couldn't bear to look at him.

Dunn's gray eyes shimmered as he chatted like everything was normal.

"Old Neil, where did you learn the Alchemical Life and resurrection ritual from?"

Old Neil replied excitedly, "I heard it. I tried the first part, and confirmed its authenticity! It's a gift from God! He kept describing it in my ears. He kept describing, He is—He is…"

Old Neil's voice came to a halt. More than ten seconds later, he continued in fear and in apparent loss, "He is the Hidden Sage…"

Upon mentioning the Hidden Sage, Old Neil seemed to finally awaken. He looked around vacantly and observed everything.

The Fool tapped on the table, unheard of by the people inside the crimson star.

In the indescribable silence, Old Neil's six eyes looked towards Dunn, and he said with a bitter smile, "So it turns out—it turns out that I've already become a monster…"

Without waiting for Dunn and the others to reply, Old Neil suddenly revealed a smile, one of groveling, fear, and cowardice.

"Let me go. I'll go deep into the mountains and won't appear again. I'll never harm anyone. I'll only attempt my ritual quietly, really. Let me go, please. I beg of you."

The old man, no, the monster, begged for mercy from his companions.

"You're pulling me into a dream!"

He was barely maintaining his own rationality.

"No, it's useless! My eyes can see through all of that!"

That's what it looked like when a Beyonder lost control.

The sticky blood that covered the ceiling, floor, and walls started squirming, like a giant opening its mouth to swallow the Nighthawks, breaking his own principle of not harming people. Old Neil's head grew blurry like overlapping afterimages.

It's too late for you.

Suddenly, everything calmed down before him. The sticky, bloody liquid suddenly turned placid like a still lake.

Old Neil lost his coldness, hatred, desire, and all other expressions. He became quiet and peaceful.

The four lashless eyes on Old Neil's forehead and cheeks slowly closed, seemingly having lost the desire to keep them open.

Dunn and Leonard drew their guns at the same time and aimed at Old Neil's head.

Then, Old Neil revealed a look of extreme fear. He was struggling, his strong desire to live fought against the effects of Sealed Artifact 3-0611.

The four extra eyes disappeared. The wrinkles at the corners of his eyes and mouth were still deep, his hair was still white and his crimson eyes were still turbid, appearing normal.

"Dunn, do you remember the time I saved you…"

Bang! Bang!

The old man's skull was torn open, the red and white within spurting in all directions.

The sticky blood that coated their surroundings started shrinking as it flowed back into Old Neil's broken head that had fallen to the ground. Dunn and Leonard lowered their guns simultaneously, and all was silent.

Dunn looked at Old Neil's 'corpse' and muttered heavily, "We are guardians, but also a bunch of miserable wretches that are constantly fighting against threats and madness."

Finally, the crimson star stopped shining, as if deciding that the prayer had stopped.

Indeed, with its host being dead, it couldn't continue.

The Fool had stopped tapping on the table, silently looking toward the place where the crimson star was before leaning back into His chair, His gaze lost into the faraway past.

How long was He going to continue to pretend being human?

However, the reason He really didn't want to have followers…

"My Lord."

The Fool closed his eyes.

"You are loved."