The Dungeon had an earthquake.
Even though, by the time it reached the surface, it registered to the senses as nothing more than an extremely faint "tremor," for Orario, which lived on top of the "lid," it was already a major warning sign capable of shaking its very foundations.
After all, every time some major Irregular happened in the Dungeon, the first signal had always been a small "tremor." For thousands of years, there had never been a single exception.
As for the consequences, monsters surging up from the Deep Floors were nothing the gods, who had descended a thousand years ago, were seeing for the first time.
...
On the surface, in Orario's Seventh District, stood Guild Headquarters.
Deep beneath it lay the Chamber of Prayers.
The stone hall was dark and deep. Only rows of torches and braziers on the walls burned fiercely, casting a few dim, flickering rays into the near-total blackness.
"Ouranos, the situation in the Dungeon isn't looking good."
As a hollow, eerie voice rang out, a slender figure in a tattered cloak emerged soundlessly from the darkness beside the stone throne. It gave the impression not of walking, but of drifting out like a ghost. In "its" hands was a mysterious crystal ball that seemed meant for divination, and on closer inspection... the heart of the crystal ball was reflecting an image.
If Alise and the others had seen it, they would certainly have cried out: isn't that Rivira?
"Fels."
With a click, it set the crystal ball on a fantastical spiral tripod, and together with the old god sitting motionless on the stone throne, gravely watched the scene within.
"That thing has appeared once more."
Fels: "..."
The venerable Sage, who had lived for 800 years, couldn't help wanting to curse. In all its long life, what it hated most was riddlers who couldn't talk straight, the kind who open their mouths and it's all fog and clouds, going around and around in circles...
It took a deep breath and tried to keep its voice calm:
"Ouranos. What exactly is this 'thing' you speak of? Could you please stop talking in circles here?"
The old god seemed to have expected its impatience. His tone remained unhurried, aged and dignified:
"It is the killer the Dungeon sends forth out of its malice toward us gods."
"You may call it..."
"God's Assassin. The Greatest Evil."
The old god paused.
"Someone evaded our surveillance and detection of the Dungeon's entrance, and on the Deep Floors, by means of some ritual combined with god blood, enraged this labyrinth. And so... it has appeared."
"..."
The stone hall was so quiet you could hear a pin drop. Only the crackle of flames licking the firewood remained.
There was a soft thud as the Sage staggered back a step, half of a horrified outline showing at the edge of its hood.
"God's Assassin!?"
The cloaked figure, that is, Fels, raised its voice sharply, its tone full of disbelief.
"I've never heard of the Dungeon giving birth to something like that!?"
"Indeed."
The old god lowered his eyes.
"Gods, humans, the Dungeon."
"A crisis hanging over the city has quietly taken shape. If this situation is mishandled, everything accumulated over these years will come to nothing. As for the promised time... that would be out of the question entirely."
The Greatest Evil, God's Assassin!
Fels paced back and forth in the hall below the stone throne. Though its face beneath the hood couldn't be seen, every step ground anxiety into the stone tiles.
Suddenly it stopped, and the hollow eye sockets beneath its hood were revealed:
"No. Braver and King must be told about this. They must be made to prepare in advance. If we're caught off guard, and the Evilus, who are hiding in the shadows planning who knows what and have been restless lately, take advantage of the opening..."
"...Orario is finished."
"Go!"
The old god's expression remained unchanged.
Fels said nothing more. Just as it had come, its figure melted into the darkness in an instant, without a sound.
...
Cold and gloomy, the torchlight flickering.
It was likewise a stone hall, but compared with the holy stillness of the old god Ouranos's Chamber of Prayers, this place was the other extreme.
"What did you say?!"
The roar nearly blew the dome off.
Valletta stared down at the group of cloaked believers kneeling below, her expression twisted, completely losing it.
"The ritual succeeded, but the taming didn't, and because of some accidents the ritual went wrong, so now it's out of control?"
"So what you're saying is: it worked, and it didn't."
"...Kinda worked?"
Valletta laughed out of sheer rage.
She swore that when people were at the absolute limit of speechlessness, they really did laugh.
"Ha. Hahaha. Interesting. Very interesting!"
She clutched her stomach and bent over, letting out a couple of laughs like a lunatic. Then her face changed abruptly, and she glared down at the intelligence officer below with a savage look:
"Fuck you!"
With a heavy thud, she kicked the useless waste of space flying.
"Ugh, ah!"
Valletta put her hands on her hips and paced back and forth across the hall.
With each of her footsteps, the cloaked figures below trembled harder. Everyone said Valletta was moody and unpredictable, a neurotic madwoman who killed whenever she felt like it. If the mood struck her, slaughtering all of them wasn't out of the question.
"Phew..."
Then she stopped and laid into the few guys in front of her with a flurry of punches and kicks:
"Damn it, you can't even handle a little thing like this! If that thing's out of control, how is it supposed to tie down the enemy's forces? This is bullshit!"
She panted, sneering at herself:
"Some Seven Days of Darkness plan..."
"Hah!"
After that bit of mockery, she stopped short and turned her head toward a certain handsome "evil god" leaning in the corner with his arms crossed, and said with a cold smile:
"Hey, my lord god of bad taste."
"You heard that too, right?"
"Your toy's out of control. You're not worried? That thing is no joke."
The handsome god with black hair and black eyes, whom Valletta had called the god of bad taste, quirked the corner of his mouth and chuckled:
"Now, now, Valletta-chan."
"Don't be in such a hurry. The show hasn't even started yet, has it?"
He raised his head and gazed into empty space, smiling slowly and meaningfully:
"The stage has only just been set, and the actors aren't in position yet. No need to rush. A good play always has to be divided into a prologue, the main act, and an epilogue."
He drew his gaze back, his smile deepening.
"The prologue has only just begun. The good part is still to come."
...
...