Killed Me? Now I Have Your Power

Fokay – Church of Sorrow

"AHHHHHHHHH!!!!"

"PLEASE! NO!!!"

Cries for help—of despair, of agony, of terror—echoed through the dark chamber with such maddening intensity that even the very walls seemed to tremble, as if they, too, could not bear the weight of so much pain.

They screamed. They wept. They begged. They cursed. They threatened. They offered everything, anything, just to make the torment stop.

But the one they were pleading to?

She didn't flinch.

A beautiful woman sat calmly on a wooden chair facing them. Her white hair flowed down her back like moonlight carved from snow, and her crimson eyes—gleaming like priceless rubies—watched without emotion.

Her grey church robes were spotless, tightly clinging to her body in a way far too sinful for what one might expect inside a church.

Rea Thornspire. Our dear fiancée.

She sat there, bored, unaffected by the bloodied and broken figures chained before her, their bodies drenched in sweat and shame, trembling under her presence.

She didn't blink.

She didn't twitch.

She simply sighed inwardly.

'How many hours has it been again?' she wondered, more irritated about the time than the suffering around her, her mind already drifting to the next step of her plan, eager to return to her room and move forward.

She didn't care anymore.

Not about their pain.

Not about their cries.

Not about the children or the women or the trembling men she tormented every single day.

Why, you ask?

Didn't I already say it?

Humans are strange, terrifying creatures. Their potential is limitless, but it's their mind that is the scariest of all. Because give it enough time, enough exposure, and it can grow used to anything.

Even this.

Even the screams.

Even the torture.

So what do you expect from a girl who has to wake up each day and break people by using their fear against them, pushing them past their limit again and again, for hours on end?

Of course she adapted.

Not because she particularly wanted to. Not because it pleased her. But because if she didn't… if she allowed herself to feel even a fraction of what they were going through, she would drown in it. Drown in sorrow. Drown in guilt. Drown in weakness.

So she made a choice.

She shut it all off.

And like that, Rea Thornspire became a machine. Efficient. Precise. Cold.

And she excelled at it.

So much so that her status within the church changed. People began to look at her with respect… and others with something much more. Because in a church built on sorrow, on fear, on despair—what power could be greater than the one who could wield all of it without flinching?

Rea didn't just survive.

She stood out.

In the beginning, it was difficult. She wasn't used to the spotlight. Her family had fallen from grace, discarded like trash, so attention made her nervous. She tried to avoid it.

But over time…

She adjusted.

She adapted.

And when she realized that influence inside the church came from perception… when she realized that reputation was its own form of currency…

Everything changed.

Rea began to play the game.

She laughed with her fellow sisters—laughs soaked in sorrow. She whispered fear into their hearts—gently, playfully—showing them just enough power to keep them intrigued, attached, wanting more.

And soon, she had followers.

A fan base.

And with followers came… money.

She began siphoning donations from the gullible. She manipulated her admirers with subtlety and charm, twisting their devotion into wealth.

And just like that, she wasn't poor anymore.

But…

'I want more,' she thought as her finger twitched—barely noticeable, but enough to send a bolt of pain into the chained boy before her, who wailed in agony as snot and tears streamed freely down his face.

She didn't look at him.

Didn't spare him a second of her attention.

Her mind was elsewhere, already calculating how to climb higher, how to sink her roots deeper into this holy den of sorrow and become something far greater.

Eventually, her shift ended. She rose, left the room, and returned to her private quarters—larger now, decorated with the luxuries bought from her new station.

Courtesy of blind devotion.

She undressed, soaked in a warm bath, changed into soft, silken clothes, and lay on her bed with a sigh of exhaustion and quiet ambition.

"It seems like I have no choice," she muttered to herself, staring at the gray ceiling above.

"I must get closer to Mother Esmere."

The branch leader of the Church. The gatekeeper to the next level of power. If Rea wanted to rise further, she would need Esmere's trust… her affection… her favoritism.

'First, I'll observe her. Understand her. Read her. Every quirk, every weakness.'

Only by knowing her could Rea claim her.

She closed her eyes with a soft breath.

"Ah… another dream about that crying goddess," she whispered, a weary smirk tugging at her lips just before sleep overtook her.

And yes.

She dreamt of her again.

But this time…

A black tear trailed down Rea's cheek.

…

Glacier of the Moon

Far from that place of screams and chains, Meris sat cross-legged atop a crystalline boulder of frozen light. Still as a statue. Meditating for days.

She had not moved. Not spoken. Not eaten.

She was becoming one with the cold, syncing her breath to the frost, and already, a vision had begun to form in her mind—a technique, a weapon of ice and elegance, lethal and beautiful.

When she opened her eyes, they glowed like divine mirrors—silver polished to perfection, reflecting the world with merciless clarity.

Her purple hair shimmered with frost, strands kissed by moonlight and the glinting shine of snow, giving her an ethereal, distant beauty.

Before her stood Lari, her ever-loyal maid.

"My lady. Are you done?" she asked softly.

Meris grinned.

"Of course, Lari! You know I'm a genius," she said, laughing without shame. "And I've found the perfect technique."

Her eyes sparkled with pride as if daring Lari to ask.

Lari's lips twitched.

"And what would that be?"

Meris beamed.

"I'll create an Ice Lotus… that freezes my opponent from the inside out."

She waited for the awe. The praise.

But all she got was a blank stare.

"…Did you just copy young master Kaden's red lotus technique and adapt it to your affinity, my lady?"

Meris coughed.

"Coincidence. That's just a coincidence," she muttered quickly.

"And besides, Kaden is my man. I can copy him. He will be proud of me."

Lari tilted her head slightly.

"Since when is young master Kaden your man?"

"…Are you sure you're not suffering from illusionous poisoning?" she asked, her voice dripping with mock concern.

Meris's smile stiffened.

She didn't respond.

Instead, she changed the subject and said coldly, "I have the core principle now. I just need some battles to refine it."

And then, casually— too casually—

"Let's go find that lustful bastard."

Lari raised a brow. "And what will you do with him?"

"Isn't it obvious?"

Meris smiled.

But it wasn't a sweet smile.

It was hollow.

Her silver eyes, as lifeless and frigid as a sunless sea, shimmered with emptiness.

"I'll use him as a test subject. I need to observe how a person's insides freeze. In real time."

Lari nodded slowly, unfazed.

'That's my lady,' she thought. 'Lovestruck and sweet for Kaden… but to the rest of the world?'

She didn't finish the thought.

She didn't need to.

Because she knew the truth.

If she wanted…

Meris could be the most heartless monster the world has ever known.

—End of Chapter 116—

A/N:

Let's be motivated. Only a few days before the end of this month. Let's reach 400 golden tickets, shall we?

Show me your wealth.

And…

…thank you for reading?