⚠️ Warning: This chapter contains graphic violence, sexual assault, drug use, and other disturbing themes. Reader discretion is strongly advised.
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20 years ago…
"GRIMOIRE REVEAL!"
The old woman's voice tore through the crowd like thunder.
She stood atop the execution scaffold, towering above the sea of people gathered below.
The wooden platform creaked beneath her bare feet, yet she stood unshaken—unyielding.
Her appearance alone stirred unease.
A rugged, faded green kimono clung loosely to her frail body.
Her skin was wrinkled like dried parchment, her face carved by time… but her eyes—Her eyes burned.
Wild.
Knowing.
Terrifying.
Before her, a grimoire floated open.
And then—Gasps rippled through the crowd.
Oracle!
The word alone carried weight… a title long forgotten, or perhaps long feared.
"I am…" she began, her voice lowering into something almost sacred—almost cursed.
"The Oracle of this world."
Her arms rose slowly.
"I have walked… into the future."
A surge of magic erupted.
Not destructive—no.
But overwhelming.
A massive illusion unfolded across the sky, stretching like a second world above their heads. It did not distort reality… it revealed something beyond it.
Visions.
Truth.
Or perhaps…
Fate.
The crowd fell into chaos—whispers, gasps, fear spreading like a disease.
A cold breeze swept through them, unnatural, chilling their very bones.
"Saints… Heroes… Kings… Royals… Nobles…" the Oracle cried, her voice echoing across the square.
"Those who seek power… will be the ones to destroy this world!"
The illusion shifted—Peaceful lands burned!
Golden cities crumbled!
Fields of green turned into fields of corpses!
War!
Endless war!
From lush kingdoms to blood-soaked battlefields…
From battlefields to silent gravelands!
And then—Faces—Humans. Monsters. Demons. All twisted… consumed by pride, greed, envy, wrath, lust, gluttony.and sloth—the Seven Deadly Sins, spreading like a plague across Aetheria.
And in the shadows of it all— A looming presence of the demonlord!
Watching.
Waiting.
Claiming the world as his domain once more.
"REPENT!" the Oracle screamed.
"REPENT! REPENT! REPENT!"
Her voice became relentless.
Endless.
The guards moved. "Seize her!"
Steel clashed against wood as soldiers rushed the scaffold.
"Silence that fraud!" one shouted.
"She's spreading panic!" another barked.
"By order of the High Cleric—she will be executed!"
The next day…
The crowd gathered again.
But this time, there was no illusion.
Only death.
The guillotine stood tall—its heavy blade glinting coldly under the light.
A machine built for finality.
For silence.
The Oracle was forced down, her neck locked into the lunette.
And yet… she smiled.
"Repent…" she whispered.
The rope was cut.
The blade fell.
SHHKK—!
Her head dropped.
Rolled.
Stopped.
Silence.
Then—"Repent… Repent… Repent…"
The voice continued.
The crowd froze!
Her head… was still speaking.
Eyes moving.
Lips trembling.
Alive.
Screams erupted!
The executioner staggered back in horror.
"No… no… that's impossible!"
Her body—still on the platform—twitched.
Then moved.
Then crawled.
And before the horrified eyes of everyone—
It reconnected.
Flesh to flesh.
Bone to bone.
As if death itself refused to claim her.
They tried again.
And again.
And again!
But no matter how many times they killed her—She returned.
Unending.
Unbreakable.
Cursed… or blessed by something far beyond human understanding.
In the end—they gave up.
Not out of mercy.
But out of fear.
She was dragged into the dungeon, sealed away from the world.
Buried in darkness.
Hidden truth.
"Repent… Repent… Repent…"
Her voice echoed endlessly through the cold stone halls.
The High Cleric watched in silence.
For the first time—Doubt crept into his heart.
"She… is real…" he thought.
An Oracle.
A true one.
But truth… was dangerous.
If the people believed her—then everything would collapse.
His authority.
The faith.
The order.
So he chose to silence her.
He buried the truth along with her.
Yet, whispers remained.
There was one thing…
One terrifying gift.
It was said— Anyone who touched the Oracle…
Would receive the answer they sought.
No lies.
No deception.
Only truth.
Absolute truth.
And that was the story the blackmarket merchant told Danir...
Danir couldn't shake the image from his mind.
The sound.
The impact!
The lifeless body of the girl crashing against sacred ground.
For a place that called itself holy… Something felt terribly wrong.
That unease clung to him like a shadow as he walked through the streets of Valoria, his thoughts spiraling deeper and darker with every step.
"I need to know…" he muttered under his breath. "The truth!"
And that was when he sought out the only place where truth was sold without chains—
The black market.
Hidden beneath the polished image of the kingdom, it thrived in whispers and secrets.
There, among cloaked figures and dim lanterns, Danir found a merchant who listened… and understood.
"The Light Order?" the merchant said, his voice low, almost amused. "Careful, kid. That's a dangerous curiosity."
Danir's gaze hardened. "I need answers."
The merchant studied him for a moment…then leaned closer.
"Then go to her."
"…Her?"
"The Oracle."
Danir's breath caught.
"She's still alive," the merchant continued.
"Locked deep in the dungeon. Forgotten by the world… but not by truth."
"And how does that help me?" Danir asked.
The merchant smiled faintly. "Touch her… and you'll get your answer."
Danir frowned. "What's the price?"
The merchant shook his head.
"No need to pay," he said. "That information is free… for those who believe it."
That same day—Danir stood before the throne of Valoria once more.
"Your Highness," he said, bowing respectfully.
King Bastion sat calmly, his expression unreadable.
"I am Danir Granger," he continued. "I seek the truth… and I cannot turn away from it."
A brief silence filled the hall...
"By the name of my father—Jared Granger…" Danir said, his voice steady but urgent,
"…I ask for your permission to see one of your prisoners."
The court stirred.
"The so-called Oracle."
Murmurs broke out among the royal advisers.
"Your Majesty, this is unwise—"
"He's just a boy—"
"That woman is dangerous—"
But King Bastion raised his hand.
Silence.
His eyes rested on Danir, studying him carefully.
Then—A sigh.
"…Jared Granger…" the king muttered. "A man my family owe more than words can repay."
He leaned back slightly.
"…Very well."
The advisers reacted immediately.
"Your Majesty—!"
"This is only once," King Bastion said firmly, cutting them off. "After this, no one speaks of it again."
Danir lowered his head. "…Thank you, Your Highness."
The descent into the dungeon felt like stepping into another world.
A darker one.
The air grew colder with every step.
He passed rows of cells—each one a portrait of suffering.
Prisoners huddled in filth.
Eyes hollow.
Bodies frail.
Some didn't even move.
Some… never would again.
The stench of decay lingered heavily, clinging to the lungs like poison.
Danir clenched his fists.
"This is… part of the same kingdom…" he thought grimly.
They went deeper. And deeper.
Until— They reached the end.
A single cell.
Sealed.
Silent.
Inside…She sat—The Oracle.
Exactly as the stories described.
Old. Fragile. Barefoot.
And yet—Her presence filled the room.
Her eyes slowly lifted… locking onto Danir the moment he stepped closer.
"…Repent…" she whispered.
The guards stepped back.
"This is as far as we go," one of them said.
Danir nodded.
Then—He stepped forward.
No hesitation.
No turning back.
His hand slowly reached out… And touched her forehead.
Darkness!
Then— Truth...
It flooded into him like a violent storm.
Visions.
Voices.
Memories that were not his own.
Danir staggered as the world around him shattered—and reformed into something far more horrifying.
He saw the cathedral.
But not as it appeared.
Not holy.
Not pure.
Something… rotten lurked beneath it.
Smiles that hid hunger.
Words that twisted faith.
Hope… turned into chains.
Then—He saw her, the girl, the young female leonin.
Desperate.
Crying.
Begging.
As she see her mother… on the verge of her death.
Cursed. Sick. Fading.
She knelt before Yolo Buick, pleading for salvation.
And he smiled.
Not kindly.
But knowingly, a bargain was made.
A cruel one!
Her body… for her mother's life.
For three days and three nights, she was used.
She became her a*x-slave.
After all of that sacrifices she made and still—No salvation came.
Then—The truth struck her.
Her mother… was already dead.
Gone.
While she had given everything…
She received nothing.
No miracle.
No mercy.
No justice.
Only silence and despair.
The vision twisted—the cathedral tower.
Her body falling!
The same moment Danir had witnessed.
The same end.
And below—the so-called saints watched.
Unmoved.
Unbothered.
Unrepentant.
Danir's eyes snapped open.
He staggered back, breath shaking, heart pounding violently against his chest.
"…No…" he whispered.
His hands trembled.
Rage!
Disgust!
Hatred!
All of it surged through him at once.
"This… is the truth…?"
His gaze darkened.
Even in a place of light…
There was darkness.
And it was far worse than anything he had imagined.
He clenched his fists.
"…Monsters…"
But then—Reality settled in.
Heavy.
Cold.
Dangerous.
"They're… heroes…" he thought bitterly.
People worshipped them.
Feared them.
Followed them.
To go against them now—Would be suicide.
Danir exhaled slowly, forcing himself to calm down.
Not here.
Not yet.
He turned away. Step by step.
Leaving the Oracle behind.
Leaving the truth buried once more in silence.
But not forgotten.
Never forgotten.
As he walked out of the dungeon, only one thought remained in his mind—
"…I'll remember this."
"And someday…"
"…I'll make them pay for it!"