Devin opened his eyes, the transition immediate and agonizing. The blinding, sterile light of the celestial realm seared his retinas, exactly as it had after the venomous Cyprian beast had slashed him to death in the castle courtyard.
It was indeed Him.
The entity clothed in pure, woven starlight hovered perfectly still before him, an oppressive, eternal, and suffocating presence. He was the entity Devin hated more than absolutely anything in existence, completely eclipsing his burning hatred for Count Sapien.
Sapien was just a monster. This being was the architect who permitted the monsters to play in the dirt.
Devin realized he was already on his knees. He hadn't chosen to kneel; his stolen body had simply materialized in a posture of absolute, unyielding submission.
That was clearly His whole thing. Forcing Devin onto his knees against his will, stripping him of every single ounce of his royal autonomy. He enjoyed it. The sickening humiliation wasn't a byproduct of the divine realm; it was part of His entertainment.
The light pulsed, a slow, rhythmic throb. His voice vibrated through the very marrow of Devin's stolen bones.
"No human, alive or dead, has witnessed a great miracle such as this," God spoke.
The sheer magnitude of His words flattened Devin like physical, crushing pressure. He couldn't lift his head.
"You are my anomaly, Devin Trangdar. You are the blade I have forged for my own amusement. But a blade does not explain its origins to the flesh it cuts."
Devin gritted his teeth, his jaw locking tight. His eyes burned fiercely as he glared up into the suffocating, perfect light.
"You shall only explain my contact with you at the cost of your revenge," the divine voice echoed, growing incredibly cold and absolute. It was a tone that brooked no argument, no rebellion. "Speak of this realm. Speak of the Soul Swap. And I will strip this stolen vessel from you."
The light flared, a terrifying display of infinite power.
"You will lose your vengeance, and you will lose your life. Play the game I have set before you, little prince, but do not spoil the illusion."
Devin opened his mouth, a venomous, hateful curse ready to fly from his lips, but the light collapsed in on itself with the devastating force of a dying star.
GASP!
Devin violently inhaled, his eyes snapping open.
The blinding white was instantly gone, replaced by the soft, golden hues of late afternoon sun filtering gently through a window. He shot up, his hands instinctively flying to his chest, expecting to find the thick gore, the drying blood, the horrific, metallic reality he had just left behind.
He found nothing but a clean, soft linen tunic.
He blinked, his mind reeling violently as he frantically scanned his surroundings.
He awoke to see a room that was not only completely cleared of guts and blood, but it was entirely, meticulously refurbished. The shattered wooden chair that had been destroyed in Zain's feral frenzy was gone, replaced with a sturdy, polished oak one. The rotting floorboards had been scrubbed raw and treated, leaving behind a sharp, clinical scent of pine and heavy alchemical bleach.
The bed he was lying on—which had once been a saturated, dripping sponge of Emerald's remains—was fitted with fresh, pristine white sheets. It was now an average, respectable room, miles ahead of the squalid hovel it had been just moments ago.
There was no trace of the slaughter. There was no trace of the Cyprian venom. There was absolutely no trace of the girl who had loved Zain Ricky.
It was as if she had never existed.
Devin slowly swung his legs over the edge of the bed. As he did, he noticed a neatly folded piece of expensive parchment resting quietly on the small nightstand. He picked it up, his hands still trembling slightly from the severe divine whiplash.
The handwriting was sharp, disciplined, and instantly recognizable.
"If you see this note early enough, you were asleep for a minimum of 1 par."
"One whole par," Devin exclaimed out loud.
The sound of his own raspy voice startled him in the immaculate silence of the room. An entire equivalent to a full day had passed in the mortal realm while he was trapped in the blinding light for what felt like seconds.
He continued reading.
"The cleanup has been done. It was messy, but nothing I haven't handled before. I couldn't stick around—too many eyes in Reignn—but I can't wait to meet again and hear about the events of the massacre and how you survived. Whatever skin you wear, I always knew you were a survivor. Take it easy, kid. Call me anytime."
Devin slowly lowered the parchment, staring blankly at the polished wooden floor.
The tension that had been winding his muscles tighter and tighter since the moment he woke up covered in blood finally snapped. He didn't even know it was happening until he felt the hot, wet trail slide down his cheek.
A single tear escaped his eyes, dropping silently onto the pristine sheets.
It was refreshing. It was a profound, overwhelming relief to have someone as close as family in a kingdom where he was entirely, desperately alone. Lotjed didn't demand answers immediately. He simply protected his blood. The old assassin had erased his grandson's monstrous mistake, asked no questions, and left the door open.
Devin wiped the tear away, his jaw setting into a hard, rigid line.
The brief moment of vulnerability was over. His thoughts shifted instantly back to the terrifying, complex situation at hand. The divine ultimatum rang clearly in his ears, a heavy iron chain wrapped tight around his soul.
He couldn't tell Lotjed the truth. He couldn't tell Fenrys. He was completely, utterly isolated in this deception. If he spoke, he died.
He stood up, walking slowly over to the small washbasin Lotjed had thoughtfully left behind on a wooden stand. He stared at the reflection in the still water.
He looked at the dark, foreign eyes. He looked at the sharp, unfamiliar jaw. He looked at the hidden, volatile venom coursing quietly through the veins of his neck.
"Zain Ricky," Devin whispered to the rippling water.
He was wearing a weapon designed by his greatest enemy. He was a ticking time bomb created by the dark nation of Cypris.
But God had made a mistake. Sapien had made a mistake.
If God wanted a show, and if Count Sapien wanted a monster, they were both about to get exactly what they asked for. Devin would master this venom. He would wield this Cyprian curse, break it to his will, and turn it against its creator.
He would use the very weapon Sapien created to tear his dark kingdom to the ground.