Before making any adjustments to the plan, Edwin decided to sneak into the village church to examine their ritual records according to Selena's intelligence. However, for the sake of safety, he chose to act after nightfall.
Had he come earlier, he might have encountered Yvette who was still in the church. But by the time he set out, Yvette had already left - though she still faced obstacles blocking her way.
"Mr. Jiménez, where are you going?" Martha tugged at her sleeve resentfully by the roadside.
"Given your unfriendly attitude toward that lady last time, I won't tell you." Yvette felt a dull ache in her head. She was acting strangely today, but she suppressed the discomfort and gave the correct response of refusal, successfully steering Martha's thoughts in a different direction.
All this was almost an instinctive reaction requiring no thought. Lies were her mask; she had long been accustomed to deception as natural as breathing.
Damn it...
In a place unseen by Yvette, the woman with a maiden's face clenched her teeth, her inner rage dancing with a peculiar restlessness.
Recently she had been waking in the deep night, disturbed by the whispers of a great presence in her dreams. In these dreams, she always saw endlessly deep, damp caves and heard magnificent yet terrifying voices never before heard in this world - as if calling her home.
No one had ever seen the deity worshipped by the village. Even during the most sacred metamorphosis ritual, when she was bestowed golden mead as the new generation's queen bee, she was merely placed in a wicker-woven cocoon and submerged, cage and all, into the lake behind the village.
At first, as the frigid lake water invaded her lungs, she suffered painfully, choking, feeling close to death. Just as consciousness began slipping away, she suddenly felt something like an umbilical cord attaching at her navel. She seemed to be in a cramped silkworm chamber, rough wicker strands wrapping her like the gentlest fetal membrane, while sparks continuously flashed in her mind. It was as if a presence as lofty and grand as the Holy Spirit described in scriptures was speaking directly into her hearing.
Perhaps this was rebirth? Just as infants don't drown in amniotic fluid because of the mother's umbilical cord, surely something must have been transmitted to her through that cord, transforming her completely, sanctifying the once ordinary womb into pure, fertile soil capable of nurturing divinely blessed offspring.
Only such descendants were morally permissible. Since all villagers shared divine blood as brothers and sisters, any coupling within the village was forbidden incest. To prevent such transgressions, boys didn't need reproductive organs - thus removing the excess early was necessary to maintain the village's holy life.
She had understood this long ago. When she woke slowly in the cocoon cage washed ashore, her heart still racing wildly, face streaked with tears of joy, she knew without being told that the ritual had succeeded - she had received the highest favor from the village's secret guardian deity.
This was the village's most fundamental secret. Sometimes she felt an inexplicable illusion that her true self had drowned in the lake. She had descended to death and returned alive - this present self was merely an aspect of the unseen guardian deity existing in the world, a puppet, a mirrored reflection.
Gazing at the lake before, Martha occasionally felt this way, but now it grew increasingly intense, echoing even in dreams, each note winding around her soul like silk threads, like dexterous fingers plucking at her heartstrings.
Is "He" about to awaken? Why else would "He" call so urgently for my return?
Martha never shared these doubts with the other queen bees, but she sensed similar boiling desires in others.
All women blessed by the deity seemed to have developed intense mating urges recently. This restless impulse didn't seem to originate from their sanctified parts but from residual human nature. Martha didn't know calamity always triggered humanity's reproductive instincts as animals - in another world, World Wars were followed by baby booms; faced with crisis, people subconsciously sought to leave descendants.
Though unaware, she knew what she wanted, even while fearing something.
From her soul's depths came increasingly loud, awe-inspiring yet terrifying voices clinging to flesh and bones, nearly tearing apart nerves and brain matter.
Before answering this call, she wanted...
"What's wrong with you?"
Yvette, having her sleeve pulled, merely attempted gently to free herself, only for Martha to stumble and collapse motionless on the ground.
Even knowing this girl was problematic, leaving someone fallen roadside when it appeared caused by her own sudden movement would break character. So Yvette extended a hand, asking gently, "Apologies, are you hurt anywhere?"
The girl kept her head low but obediently offered her hand, letting Yvette pull her up.
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Yet upon rising, Martha suddenly lunged, practically hanging onto Yvette's neck, planting a quick kiss on her lips.
"Mmm..."
Startled, Yvette moved to push her away. But accustomed to using supernatural abilities in critical moments, a full push would send this delicate girl flying six or seven meters back. Moreover, such display of abnormal strength might reveal herself to whatever unknown forces governed this village.
Her thoughts hesitated between pushing and stopping—that split-second was enough for Martha to succeed.
"What is this..." Yvette sensed some liquid seeping from the girl's lips. Without swallowing and wiping immediately, she still tasted honey-like sweetness. It seemed alive, penetrating her lips instantly upon contact, evaporating like a water droplet on red-hot iron.
Miscalculation—such carelessness...
Countless thoughts flashed—had her identity been exposed? Then intense energy suddenly boiled within.
"What did you..." Her body swayed uncontrollably, voice squeezed from her throat's depths.
"You kept refusing me. I didn't want this... but it's too late... You must pay..." Though her expression mixed hatred and glee, Martha began unbuttoning her blouse. With soft rustling, dress, shirt and underskirt shed like a cicada's shell. Under pale moonlight, the girl's delicate skin shone ivory-perfect.
Who could imagine such flawless form hidden beneath coarse linen? If anything, the shoddy fabric accentuated its beauty—bloodless, almost translucent, recalling plump white larvae in cocoons.
"I am the great god's chosen priestess, granted power to tread lowly males like bugs and drink their blood—yet you dared humiliate me endlessly..." Martha self-hugged, her slender frame seeming fragile against night's chill, inviting pity. Yet flawless lips uttered ruthless words contradicting her appearance.
Rage filled her—not just at this man spurning her charms for lower-status queen bees, but at the ultimate humiliation: resorting to forbidden village mead to entrap him.
This was meant for queen bees traveling briefly to form fleeting bonds when village males were insufficient—a safe method even if noticed. But her actions now would force the village to cover up, requiring elaborately staged "accidents" to bury suspicious outsiders in woodlands. The more frequent such measures, the riskier—even a council elder like her would face collective reprimand for selfish actions.
Yet it was his fault—why else such agony? Her soul wailed as if torn between worlds. As the dream-call to return grew stronger, her body ached more by day—signaling need to be filled, to leave her bloodline before departure...
This should have happened sooner. Like natural drones dying after mating—their brief lives meant only to inseminate the queen. Likewise, she only needed this prime male's seed; his subsequent fate mattered not.
Rather, his life would continue in her womb—perhaps elevated to higher forms like her own.
Touching her abdomen, she prayed silently for a daughter, then smiled seductively at the wavering mortal—a conqueror's proud sneer, not a lover's tenderness.
"Be gratified—at least you'll experience supreme pleasure before death. I permit you to act as you now imagine."
Her pride was justified—none had ever refused her, even without mead.
So it should have been.
But suddenly a chaotic swirl—as if churning clouds—arrived abruptly. Some long-dormant malevolence awoke, twisting the once-gentle visage into hideous distortion.
"Your stupidity... destroyed my patience!"
A roar of agony and hatred blended with unnervingly alien hissing into indescribable, horrific resonance—both aberrant yet harmonious, boiling up from abyssal depths to overwhelm Martha's drumming, trembling heart.
A torrent of power surged through Yvette's mind, obliterating all reason like a tidal wave smashing through feeble barricades.
"Aaaaah…"
What unholy abomination stood before her?
It wore a human shape, yet its very flesh seemed writhing with maggots!
Martha's impossibly luminous skin—more ethereal than any mortal's, so flawless artists would weep—was to Yvette nothing but a loathsome fraud, a cancerous blight upon creation's design.
She longed to peel away its swollen flesh strand by putrid strand, to grind its bones into gravel...
"Ghk—release—!" Martha's plea died as Yvette slammed her down, knee driving into her abdomen like a piston. The village heard nothing. Even the crickets kept chirping; the night itself held its breath.
Only Yvette perceived the truth—the world had become her limbs, its rhythms her pulse. Controlling energy now felt as natural as breathing.
Soundwaves dissipated at her whim. Rolling back her eyes, she plunged through visions of bottomless voids.
White-hot bloodlust ignited. She understood everything... yet nothing.
This corrupted world needed purification! Blood would flow, souls be devoured. The righteous might receive mercy—should they kneel.
Destroy this mistake. Wipe it from existence.
NO! Part of her screamed. These aren't my thoughts!
Ascension's price was never mine to control. The Dreambeing promised nothing—It only...
It only watched, hungry for novelties.
Like a fool, I walked Its path believing I could balance. Each step dragged me deeper. Now the abyss whispers within me.
No escape.
Yet... I hear It... the shapeless dread sleeping below. Does It call me?
"Tsk... Why tremble?"
Yvette's giggle was pure madness. Her grip tightened on Martha's throat, feeling the fragile cartilage beneath that counterfeit skin.
A botched imitation. Crush it like an eggshell...
Though its bloodless flesh might spill little.
"Fear not," crooned Yvette, freeing a lapel pin with her other hand. "My light will reveal your prison of flesh."
To any passerby, it seemed a lover's tryst—a beautiful youth looming over a naked girl. But Yvette only fashioned the pin into a crude blade.
"Blood opens the way. Alchemy's final secret—Rubedo—demands dissolution before rebirth. You must die first..."
The needle flashed down—
—And embedded in Yvette's own hand still choking Martha.
"Yes... worms must bleed to earn wings... Let blood scab over sins..." His glassy stare looked through her, speaking to phantoms.
Through tears, Martha saw only shifting madness in her assailant's face. His hesitation wasn't mercy—just humanity's last stand against the tide.
When the grip finally loosened, Martha fled like a hare, stumbling toward a hidden creek.
Abandoning secrecy, her body erupted into squirming nodules before dissolving entirely—a writhing mass of white worms riding the current home.
So that's their secret...
Yvette lay spent in the grass. Martha had sensed her inhumanity.
Should've killed her.
Sniffing the bloodied pin, Yvette fantasized about gouging empty eye sockets. The lie brought no relief.
Only Martha's escape let Yvette surrender to corruption's spread.
Had she stayed another heartbeat... would anything human remain?
As Yvette stumbled into the woods, one truth burned clearer than the moon:
Between two corrupted souls—hers by the Old Gods, Martha by her lineage—what difference truly remained?
