Betelgeuse had barely finished rambling about their glorious mission when he suddenly declared that they needed to move. The Church was waiting.
Subaru barely had time to react before the cultists sprang into action, gathering up their things with unnerving synchronization. A few of them moved to her side, bowing so low their hoods nearly touched the ground, mumbling about how her eminence must not dirty her divine feet with the filth of the earth and allow us the honor of carrying you, most beloved.
Subaru shut that down immediately.
She didn't care if she was supposed to be some god-tier entity—they were not carrying her around like some kind of parade float. She had already lost her identity, her dignity, and possibly her entire future. She wasn't about to lose the ability to walk, too.
As they moved, she decided to dig for more information.
Betelgeuse had mentioned more followers. More people like him. Which was already horrifying, because one of him was more than enough. But if there were more? She needed to know exactly what she was dealing with.
So, she did what any desperate, confused person trapped in a high-stakes situation would do.
She tested his General Knowledge.
"Tell me," she said as they walked, her tone cool and cryptic, "of the others who serve me. These… devoted ones beyond this place."
Betelgeuse, who had been practically vibrating with excitement just walking beside her, let out a high-pitched giggle. "Ah! You wish to speak of your most devout, your chosen ones, your harbingers of love and destruction!" His fingers twitched at his sides, spasming in ways that made Subaru deeply uncomfortable. "The Sin Archbishops, of course!"
Sin. Archbishops.
Subaru didn't like the sound of that.
"Go on," she said, feigning disinterest, even as she braced herself for whatever fresh nightmare was about to hit her ears.
Betelgeuse clutched his hands to his chest, sighing like a lovesick poet. "Ah, how joyful, how insanityful! To speak of such divine beings in your presence!" He inhaled deeply, his whole body shaking. "Where to begin? Ah, yes—your children of the Gospel, your apostles of virtue, your hands of judgment! Each one an embodiment of a great sin, each one carrying forth your will in this world!"
Subaru resisted the urge to correct him.
She was not their mother. She was not carrying forth anything. But for now, she had to nod along, lips curling ever so slightly in a way she hoped looked menacing instead of nauseous.
"Let us start," Betelgeuse continued, his voice reverent, "with the newest among them—Capella Emerada Lugunica, the Sin Archbishop of Lust."
Lust. That was already a bad start.
"Her beauty is unrivaled," Betelgeuse continued, his voice turning dreamy, "and yet, she finds it meaningless, as all should. To her, flesh is nothing more than a vessel, a tool to be reshaped at will. A woman, a man, a child, a beast—what does it matter? She takes whatever form pleases her in the moment, twisting and bending flesh like clay, remaking the weak, the pitiful, the unworthy in ways only she can!"
Subaru's stomach churned.
Okay. That was already one massive, red, flashing warning sign. Body horror, shapeshifting, and zero respect for identity? Fantastic.
"And then, of course," Betelgeuse continued, his grin widening, "there is Regulus Corneas, the Sin Archbishop of Greed."
Greed. That also didn't sound great.
"He is a man who takes what he desires," Betelgeuse declared, spreading his arms wide, "a man of pure self-love, pure selfishness! Unshackled by the bonds of mortal limitations, he stands untouched by the world itself! Time bows to him, the laws of nature bend before his existence, for what is the world, if not something for him to own?"
Subaru's eye twitched.
So this guy was some kind of invincible, self-obsessed, reality-breaking nightmare. Great.
"And then there is your humble unworthy servant," Betelgeuse continued, voice lowering into something almost soft, "the Sin Archbishop of Sloth."
Subaru almost choked.
"You're the Archbishop of Sloth," she pointed out.
Betelgeuse gasped, his eyes widening in childlike wonder. "Ah, most beloved! Of course, of course! You remember! Even now, in this form, your boundless wisdom pierces through the veil of time!" He clasped his hands together, shaking in ecstasy. "Yes! You bestowed upon me this title, but I am not alone! There is another! A new Sloth, one who carries the burden of indulgence! Where I act, he refuses! Where I devote, he abandons! Where I love, he wastes! He is an insult, a mockery, a wretched thing that dares to carry my Sin!"
Subaru absorbed that with a blank expression.
So... Fantastic.
Betelgeuse took a breath, then sighed. "But, of course, no tale is complete without mentioning… Sirius Romanee-Conti, the Sin Archbishop of Wrath."
Romanee-Conti.
The same name as Betelgeuse.
Subaru filed that away, very much not liking the implications.
"Sirius," Betelgeuse went on, voice dropping into something almost reverent, "is passion. She feels more deeply than any, connects to others with an unbreakable bond! Through chains of love, of sorrow, of grief, she binds those around her, forces them to share her joy, her pain, her everything! Such intimacy! Such devotion!"
Subaru wasn't sure what was worse. The fact that this sounded like some kind of brainwashing emotional control bullshit or the fact that Betelgeuse seemed to admire it.
"And, last but never least," Betelgeuse finished, his tone shifting into something quieter, darker, "Lye Batenkaitos. The Sin Archbishop of Gluttony."
Gluttony.
Subaru had a bad feeling about this one.
"He is hunger," Betelgeuse whispered, eyes gleaming. "Hunger without end, hunger without reason, hunger that consumes not just the body, but the soul itself. Names, memories, existence— all are devoured in his wake, erased from this world, forgotten by those who once held them dear. He shares his position with his siblings— Gluttony is represented by three siblings who each takes on a different aspect of Gluttony: Rui Arneb represented Satiation, Lye Batenkaitos represented Gourmet, and Roy Alphard represented Bizarre Eating."
Subaru's body went rigid.
That was so much worse than she expected.
"Ah, most beloved," Betelgeuse sighed, his expression dreamy once more, "your devoted children serve you well. The Archbishops—they spread your love, your insanityful embrace across this wretched world!"
Subaru nodded.
Slowly. Deliberately. Like an anime villain pulling off some grand reveal.
Internally?
She was screaming.
What the fuck.
She was supposed to be the leader of these monsters? These insanityful psychos? She was in charge of a group of reality-breaking, flesh-twisting, brainwashing, soul-eating lunatics?
Nope. No, no, no, no, no.
She needed a plan. She needed an escape.
Because if she stayed in this role, stayed as their "beloved Witch," one thing was terrifyingly clear—
The world was fucked.
Ē~Ē
Pandora stood at the entrance of the grand, decaying church, hands delicately folded in front of her. The stone arches stretched high into the sky, their edges crumbling, vines creeping over the once-sacred structure like veins on rotting skin. The air was thick, damp with the scent of age and death. A week had passed since Betelgeuse had declared his miraculous discovery, a secret, a way to bring back her.
Pandora had not wanted that.
But Betelgeuse was a fool, driven by his devotion to the point of insanity. He hadn't listened. He never listened. He had spent centuries clawing at the mere idea of bringing her back, convinced that it was his divine purpose.
And now, it seemed, he had succeeded.
The air changed.
The wind stilled, suffocated beneath a growing, unnatural pressure. The sky dimmed, dark clouds swallowing what little sunlight remained. The trees that lined the path to the church withered, their leaves curling inward, bark blackening, roots twisting as if recoiling from the presence that approached.
She was here.
A shudder passed through the gathered cultists, a wave of pure, breathless anticipation. Then, as if an invisible signal had struck them, they moved.
They rushed forward, unrolling a crimson carpet along the dirt path leading to the church. Their hands trembled as they smoothed out the fabric, ensuring that not a single crease would offend the feet of their beloved.
Betelgeuse's voice, wild and exultant, tore through the silence.
"Rejoice! Rejoice! Our beloved returns! Our most cherished! The Witch of Envy! She is here!"
The cultists fell to their knees.
Then, from the swirling mist, she emerged.
A slow, deliberate silhouette. Her form was wrapped in a flowing black gown, the mist curling around her as if alive, coiling up her arms, shifting like whispers of darkness. A veil covered her face, obscuring her expression, allowing only glimpses of pale skin and silver hair peeking beneath the fabric. Her steps were measured, controlled, as if she had all the time in the world.
And the moment she passed, the cultists collapsed, hands outstretched, lips pressing against the very ground she walked upon.
She did not look at them.
Did not acknowledge them.
She simply walked forward, mist billowing behind her like a living shadow.
Pandora watched, a soft, pleasant smile gracing her lips, though her blue eyes held no warmth.
The Witch stopped just before the entrance.
Pandora inclined her head, offering a greeting as though welcoming an old friend into her home. "It's good to have you back."
There was a pause.
A long, lingering silence.
Then, at last, the Witch turned her head slightly, veil shifting as she regarded Pandora.
"Pandora."
A simple name. Spoken as if testing it. As if she were tasting it for the first time.
Pandora waited.
The Witch stood there for a moment longer, then, without another word, turned and entered the church.
The cultists trembled with uncontained joy. Some openly wept. Others clutched at their chests, whispering prayers of devotion under their breath.
Pandora, meanwhile, was not unhappy.
Merely… annoyed.
She had not wanted this. She had seen no need for it. The careful balance she had maintained for so long was now threatened, disrupted by Betelgeuse's idiocy. But what was done was done.
And now, she was here.
But what nobody knew, what not a single soul in that church was aware of, was the internal monologue currently running through the Witch's head.
"Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck—"
Subaru was panicking.
This was bad. This was so bad.
She had walked straight into a church full of cultists. A church full of psychotic, worship-crazed murderers who expected her to be some terrifying, all-knowing goddess of death.
Act cool.
Act like an anime villain.
She kept walking, back straight, hands still, head high, just like some powerful final boss making a grand entrance.
Inside, she was dying.
Ē~Ē
Inside the dimly lit room, Subaru did her best to not look at the mirror.
She knew what she looked like now. She had seen it in the water before—long silver hair, eerie violet eyes, the kind of inhuman beauty that belonged on a forbidden painting in some haunted castle. And after the whole kissing-her-own-reflection-like-a-total-freak incident, she had decided that mirrors were off-limits. No more self-gazing. Ever.
But as she paced, trying to figure out what the hell to do next, her eyes slipped. Just for a second. A single glance.
The mirror cracked.
Subaru jumped, spinning toward it like it had personally insulted her. A long, jagged crack split down the glass, distorting her reflection into something even more nightmarish.
She hadn't even touched it.
Was she really that evil?
Her fingers twitched at her sides. She tore her gaze away, swallowing down the unsettling feeling creeping up her spine.
Outside, the world had withered.
The sky was a deep, endless black, void of stars, void of light, void of anything that looked remotely alive. The trees had decayed into hollow husks, gnarled and twisted, their bark crumbling like dust. The grass had shriveled into brittle, lifeless strands. The very air felt wrong, thick and heavy, like the atmosphere itself was suffocating under her presence.
This was because of her.
Wherever she walked, whatever space she existed in—life died.
Her stomach growled.
A deep, hollow ache crawled through her gut, snapping her out of her spiraling thoughts. Right. Food. That was a problem she could actually do something about.
Her eyes flickered toward the table in the center of the room. There was fruit on it.
A banana.
She reached for it immediately, peeling it open with practiced ease—
It rotted in her hand.
She froze, staring in utter horror as the once-fresh banana withered, darkening into a sickly, blackened mush within seconds. A sour, putrid stench hit her nose, and she recoiled, dropping it onto the table where it splattered like some kind of biohazard experiment gone wrong.
Her eye twitched.
Okay.
Okay, no big deal. Maybe bananas were just sensitive.
She grabbed the apple next. It was bright red, fresh-looking. A safe bet.
It turned grey the moment her fingers touched it. The color drained out of it like paint being washed away, the surface caving in as it shriveled into a dry, brittle husk. The entire thing crumbled in her palm, disintegrating like dust.
Her stomach growled again.
Her head throbbed.
She was too hungry for this bullshit.
With a scowl, she reached for the already rotten fruit on the side of the table. Might as well eat something that was already dead. That way, she couldn't make it worse.
It was horrible.
The second it hit her tongue, she almost gagged.
Mushy, bitter, fermented beyond recognition, an absolute assault on every possible taste receptor. It was the kind of taste that made a person question their life choices.
But she swallowed it.
Because she had to.
Because if she didn't, if she tried to vomit, what if her vomit melted the floor?
What if the cultists collected it?
What if they thought her puke was some kind of holy elixir and started drinking it like some insane divine blessing?
That horrifying mental image alone was enough to keep the food down.
She was in hell.
TBC
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