Anyone who’d had a brief brush with Moga described her the same way—cool, aloof, and unapproachable; an icicle that never melts atop a snow peak, or a lone wolf in the deep jungle licking its wounds.
And if you asked whether there’d ever been a moment in her life when she resembled people’s idea of a soft, delicate girl, it would probably be now.
Honestly, though, if an icy, slick tendril wriggled into anyone’s clothes and glided along their skin, they’d be just as helpless and panicked as she was—like having a cockroach crawl up your pant leg.
She hit the ground and thrashed a few times, then forced down the urge to scream. Shame and grim resolve flared hotter than fear. She yanked out her short knife and, aiming at the tendril under her clothes, drove her hand down—better to die together than be toyed with by this disgusting thing!
Just then, a cold, smooth, utterly rippleless voice broke into her mind: “Wait. Don’t be hasty.”
Who’s there?
Moga’s heart jolted, but her stabbing hand didn’t slow in the slightest. The unknown fear only goaded her on!
Noticing this, the tendril beneath her clothes surged tight—like an invisible rope snapping taut. The cold, slick feelers whipped around her wrists and ankles, even cinched her waist, then yanked! The force locked her in place at once; only her chest heaved up and down.
“I am an eldritch god. If you don’t want to die here, you’ll do as I say.” The voice held no overt threat—just a flat statement of fact.
Moga’s struggle froze—not because she’d given up, but because a massive terrorclaw beast loomed in the twilight at a distance. Three meters tall, its bulk blotted out the setting sun like a giant of shadow, trudging toward her.
The cold tendrils tightened; the beast’s rank reek washed over her. She had never been this close to despair.
“I’ll repeat myself. If you don’t want to die, you obey. I’m an eldritch god, not a good person,” the voice added.
“I—I… understand.” She squeezed the words through her teeth, voice dry and shaking. Her will to resist collapsed under the gap in power and the double threat of death.
“Next part will sting a little. Don’t panic,” said the eldritch god.
Moga felt a faint prickling across her skin. The next instant, the little magic in her body was siphoned out in a rush!
A cyan runic ring flickered before her eyes—and unleashed a wind blade nearly two meters across. Its power was shocking. It roared forth and sheared the terrorclaw in half on the spot!
Splat!
Red sprayed from the beast’s bisected carcass. Dusk ran like blood, and a sharp stench filled the air. When the body finally toppled, the last light gilded Moga’s pretty face again, tracing an incredulous silhouette.
“D–dead?” she whispered, pupils pinpricking. In her reckoning, a beast like that took at least a silver-rank adventurer to handle alone. How had it died so fast—so easily?
Eldritch god… The presence speaking in her head—was it truly… an eldritch god?
“Since you now accept that I am an eldritch god, I expect you to show the proper attitude and meet my demands. Do so, and I can guarantee you a chance at life after a time.” The voice sounded again.
Still that even, affectless delivery. None of the legendary taint, frenzy, or depravity—yet the fear it brought was undiminished, a Sword of Damocles forever poised overhead.
“I… understand, my lord.” Moga closed her eyes and drew a long breath. When she opened them again, only the dead calm of resignation remained.
After confirming with mind magic that the pretty, sprightly elf girl before her now fully believed the “eldritch god” identity, Yvette, elsewhere, finally relaxed.
She’d reached this area ten days earlier. In that time, a passing monster had wrecked the shuttle carrying her, forcing her to operate on the ground in tendril form—burning even more aberration mana to move about.
So she settled on a mode of action for the Radiant Continent: find a host who could carry her around to save that precious aberration mana.
She wouldn’t be in this world long anyway, and any heavy fighting would only shorten her stay. She didn’t mind playing the “bad guy,” forcing someone to serve as host or puppet—so long as she didn’t draw the attention of this world’s True Gods.
As for why she’d dived into the girl’s clothes—mind magic needed close contact to keep a link, and with other methods she couldn’t be sure the other party would cooperate.
Once she was sure the elf girl was compliant and quelled, Yvette eased the bindings. Borrowing the girl’s siphoned magic, she cast Shadowstep and folded her into the dark—to keep the commotion from drawing surrounding monsters.
Night fell. When the girl’s form surfaced again, she was standing in the dim treeline at the edge of Adelock.
“My lord… what should I do next?” Moga asked uneasily.
Yvette’s display of light-and-shadow magic had crushed her last scrap of wishful thinking. On the way back she had walked, and rifled through every scrap of lore on eldritch gods in her head.
She remembered how the great churches preached that eldritch gods lured believers by every means—and in the end would turn them into sustenance. That made her deeply doubt the promise of “a chance at life,” and she all but decided she was doomed.
Her only hope now was to satisfy the god’s demands and win its favor.
As for the price of falling into eldritch faith—and the harm it might do the world—she had no bandwidth left to care.
Yvette considered, then said, “Go back to where you’re staying. I’ll give you the rest of the instructions later.”
This trip to another world had been rushed, with no real plan. For now, she had nothing in particular she wanted done. If anything, she wanted intel on her “students,” and on this world’s four True Gods, the Demon God included.
She was interested in the gods here—and more curious still about the criteria for apotheosis, and what exactly a “Terrestrial Godrealm” was. Of course, she probably wouldn’t get that from a rank-and-file adventurer.
A few minutes later, back at the Old Oak Inn, warm light and a stew of voices washed over them—doing nothing to thaw the chill in Moga’s heart.
In the tavern on the first floor, she spotted Breton and his companions—the ones who’d invited her that morning.
Noticing her low spirits, Breton put two and two together, waved, and grinned. “Miss Half-elf, thank goodness you’re all right! I heard the first wave at the labyrinth got slammed by monsters. I was worried you’d run into trouble. Good thing I played it cautious and stuck to gathering intel today.”
Moga managed a nod. “I got lucky—”
Lucky, my foot! she fumed inwardly. I can hear you, you know, Yvette thought as well. She kept both to herself—no sense in spooking the girl.
.
!
Book 2: Chapter 168: Eldritch God
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