Aiko's knees buckled.
Rain hissed against the steaming remains of Tatsuya's corpse—a headless torso half-buried in sludge. The Scarlet Sovereign loomed over her, golden armor glowing like a fallen star. Its halo of blades spun silently, casting jagged shadows across the mud.
Is this… Kami-sama's true form?
Her mind reeled. The Sovereign didn't move. Didn't breathe. It just existed, radiating power that made her ribs vibrate. She clutched her dagger, the blade trembling in her grip.
"K-Kami-sama…?" she whispered.
The Sovereign's galactic eyes narrowed.
FWOOOM.
In a burst of crimson light, it dissolved.
Thorny armor crumpled into ash, swept away by the wind. The oppressive aura vanished, leaving only the patter of rain and the stench of blood.
Aiko stared at the empty clearing.
Gone. Like it was never here.
Her legs gave out. She collapsed into the mud, fingers digging into the cold earth. Every bruise, every cut screamed for attention, but her mind was numb.
Who am I to deserve this?
Three days.
Three days ago, she'd been caged in that brothel—filthy, starving, waiting for death. Then he came. A voice from nowhere, gifting miracles: food, weapons, earthquakes. She'd thought Kami-sama a trickster spirit, a bored god toying with her suffering.
But now…
She glanced at Tatsuya's remains. The S-Class Kagekiri—a man who'd torn apart a demigod with his teeth—lay in pieces.
All because Kami-sama willed it.
Why?
Aiko's throat tightened. She wasn't special. She'd failed her family, her clan, everyone. Even her cursed body—stats locked at 1—was a joke.
Yet Kami-sama had chosen to protect her. To avenge her.
"What do you want from me?" Her voice cracked.
No answer. The Eagle-Eye Totem lay shattered nearby, its owl face split in half. She crawled toward it, ignoring the pain.
"Please… I need to hear you. Just once."
Silence.
Memories flooded her—Kami-sama's first words during the brothel escape, the way he'd materialized a horse from thin air, how he'd guided her to kill Yuriko. Every act precise, relentless.
But this…
The Sovereign's brutality had been different. Personal. Like Kami-sama's rage made flesh.
Aiko hugged herself, shivering. Was this his true nature? A being of wrath, not mercy?
Does it matter?
He'd saved her. Again.
Tears mixed with rain on her cheeks. She pressed her forehead to the mud, back curved like a question mark.
Why?
She was nothing—a failed daughter, a cursed weakling, a toy for men who paid in grimy coins.
Kami-sama had no reason to save her. No reason to burn mountains or summon gods just to keep her breathing.
Her chest tightened, memories of the brothel's dark walls pressing in. She remembered the way Yuriko's laughter had echoed as she'd kicked her ribs, the way clients had leered at her trembling form. She'd prayed to every shrine in the village during those nights. No one answered.
Until him.
"What do you want from me?" she whispered to the rain.
…
Michael stared at his phone screen.
[CHAPTER TWO COMPLETED!]
[REWARDS AVAILABLE!]
[AIKO BOND LEVEL: 50% ➔ 80%]
[REACH 100% TO UNLOCK A SPECIAL AWARD!]
What's the catch this time?
He'd just dropped nearly $100,000 to keep Aiko alive, and the game had the nerve to act like this was a celebration.
But if playing the game meant better survival odds for her—and him—he had no choice.
"Claim," he clicked.
The holographic screen exploded with light, searing Michael's retinas. He threw up a hand, squinting as golden text scrolled across his vision:
[REWARD: SCARLET SOVEREIGN'S PROSTHETIC ARM (SSS-TIER)]
[SYNCING TO PLAYER…]
Before he could process the words, the steel room shuddered. Symbols on the walls flared crimson, their jagged edges pulsing like angry veins. The air crackled with static, raising the hairs on Michael's neck.
"What now?!" he yelled, back pressing against the cold wall.
A guttural rip tore through the room.
Above him, the ceiling split open—not physically, but like a glitch in reality.
A swirling vortex of black and gold spiraled into existence, spitting arcs of lightning. At its center, a sleek silver box materialized, hovering midair. It was the size of a shoebox, wrapped in glowing chains that dripped liquid fire.
The box slammed onto the floor with a metallic clang. The chains shattered, dissolving into ash.
Michael stared. "THE HEL—."
His phone buzzed.
[Unknown Number]: Open it.
Michael's jaw tightened. The Curator. Of course. He stepped closer, eyeing the box. The surface wasn't metal—it looked alive, shifting between obsidian black and molten orange. A single symbol glowed on the lid: a clawed hand gripping a thorned rose.
He reached out, bandaged stump twitching. The moment his fingers brushed the lid, the box hissed.
CLICK.
The lid flew open.
Inside, nestled on black velvet, was an arm.
Not a fleshy, human arm. A masterpiece of jagged metal and glowing embers—like someone had forged a prosthetic from volcanic rock and nightmare fuel. The shoulder joint ended in sharp hooks, while the fingers were articulated blades.
Runes pulsed along its length, throbbing with vicious red light.
Michael stumbled back. "Oh hell no."
The arm twitched.
Then it leaped.
"What the—?!" Michael ducked, but the prosthetic moved faster. It shot toward his right shoulder stump, hooks snapping open like a predator's jaws.
SNICK.
Agony.
White-hot pain seared through Michael's nerves as the prosthetic clamped onto his stump.
He screamed, collapsing to his knees.
The metal glowed, fusing with his flesh in a sickening sizzle. His vision blurred—memories of the car crash, the hospital, the phantom itch of a limb that wasn't there—all crushed under the volcanic heat of this thing burrowing into his soul.
CRACK.
The pain vanished.
Michael panted, sweat dripping onto the floor. He slowly raised his head.
His right arm… was back.
But not the arm he'd lost.
The Scarlet Sovereign's arm gleamed in the eerie light, every joint humming with barely contained power. Bladed fingers flexed at his mental command, slicing the air with a sound like a sword being unsheathed. Heat radiated from it, warping the space around his hand.
"Did it just… install itself?!" Michael croaked.
The arm responded.
[SYNC COMPLETE.]
The voice wasn't in his ears—it vibrated in his bones, deep and gravelly, like magma grinding through stone.
Michael froze. "Who said that?"
[PRIMARY USER CONFIRMED: MICHAEL COBB.]
[COMBAT MODE: STANDBY.]
His eyes darted to the prosthetic. "You're… talking?!"
[QUERY: ADJUST VOLUME?]
"No! Stop talking!" Michael hissed, slapping a hand over the prosthetic's… mouth? It didn't have one.
[COMPLIANCE.]
Silence.
Michael took a shaky breath.
His thoughts raced. Okay. Magic sentient arm. Cool. Not creepy at all. He slowly rotated the prosthetic, examining it. The blades along the fingers retracted with a thought, leaving a sleek metal hand.
The glow dimmed, turning the arm from "glowing lava monster" to "slightly evil sci-fi prop."
His phone buzzed again.
[Unknown Number]: ngl. I kinda like it on you.