What does it mean to live?
For peace of mind?
For happiness, dreams, duty, or the experience of life itself?
To endure and overcome suffering?
No one really knows.
Taisu, the Evil God, had never bothered with questions like that. And if someone ever sought an answer from him, his reply would be only a single word—
"Pleasure."
Yes. That was his creed.
His beautiful priestesses needed only to offer themselves completely, while he, the god Taisu, had far more complicated things to consider.
How best to harvest their faith and devotion.
How to make them see him as their final, desperate salvation.
How to devour them whole—and still make them believe they were the ones who had gained something.
Even the most cunning and manipulative women should find themselves dancing helplessly in his palm.
But most important of all—how to make the experience of being summoned as perfectly exhilarating as possible!
So yes, even a god who works this hard surely deserves to enjoy his existence, doesn't he?
And right now, that opportunity had finally appeared before him.
A pure, untainted girl had sacrificed everything—body and soul—to summon him into the world.
In exchange, he would grant her wish.
A wish for vengeance.
A feast of slaughter where rivers ran red with blood, and no one would be left alive.
There was no point in continuing anymore.
Curled up on the cold basement floor, Saikyō Aiko stared blankly into the darkness.
This was a place no one would ever find—an underground storeroom filled with broken debris and the stench of filth. In the silence, faint scurrying noises echoed—rats, maybe, or cockroaches.
Normally, Aiko would have trembled with fear at such sounds. But now she lay still, lifeless, like a corpse.
"If only the rats or cockroaches would eat me," she murmured faintly. "At least then I could nourish something. Maybe I'd even earn a tiny bit of peace in death."
That would be… a thousand times better than the fate waiting for her.
Her mind suffocated under the weight of despair. When she rolled over, the shackles around her ankles clattered—rough iron biting deep into pale skin.
Her stomach growled.
She closed her eyes and tried to remember—like the little match girl recalling warmth in her final moments.
When she had just entered middle school, her parents had taken her to a fancy restaurant to celebrate.
Her father's hearty laughter, her mother's gentle, shy smile… the flavor of the meal—so delicious, though the portions were tiny.
She had been embarrassed to eat too much back then, and left half-satisfied.
Tears gathered in her blurry eyes as those memories flickered like dying candlelight.
When did it all go wrong?
Probably when Father fell ill.
They had gone from hospital to hospital, but nothing helped. His face grew thinner by the day, like ash.
That was when Mother… accepted help from a cult.
The smiling men said Father was possessed by an evil spirit, that medicine could do nothing.
Only devout prayer to their divine lord could save him.
Everyone said it with such conviction, each telling miracle stories of their rebirth after joining.
Mother believed them—grasping at hope like a drowning woman clinging to a reed.
To prove her faith, she sold their house, their car.
They moved from place to place, smaller each time.
Eventually, they survived only with the cult's charity, and Mother wept with gratitude, lost in her delusion.
But Father's illness worsened still.
Soon, he looked less like a man than a skeleton wrapped in dying flesh.
And the believers' smiles began to fade.
"It's because your husband isn't devoted enough," they said sternly.
"The god's wrath is upon him."
"An evil demon has already taken root inside."
"He's no longer your husband, only the demon's vessel. Let us grant him peace."
Then began the ritual of exorcism.
Aiko watched in horror as they forced her father's head down into so-called holy water, drowning him while burning symbols into his flesh.
His ruined body bore no skin untouched by the cult's seals.
She remembered his final look—his hollow eyes filled with love and despair.
And his last, barely audible words:
"Run…"
But she had never escaped.
In her mother's madness, gratitude twisted into servitude.
The woman—that wretched, filthy woman—joined the cult completely, offering them everything she still possessed.
Including her daughter.
Soon, Saikyō Aiko would be forced to "serve" every male member of the cult with her pure body—and then, "blessed" to die as a sacrifice to their god.
The thought was as revolting as drowning in a pit of excrement.
"What a joke…! Dying now would be better than that!"
In that instant—when Aiko no longer saw her mother as kin, but as her enemy—rage blazed in her chest, consuming fear.
If death was the only rebellion left to her, she would embrace it without hesitation.
Hatred burns hotter than any flame.
Staggering to her feet, she searched the cluttered room. Her hands shook as she gathered her "weapons"—a lighter, a shard of metal, and a book.
Pathetic tools for a desperate girl.
But they would do.
Like the little match girl striking her final match, Saikyō Aiko ignited the book and watched the fire bloom.
If the match girl had seen warmth and love in her last light, then Aiko saw only the cult's compound engulfed in hellfire—her vengeance blazing bright.
Within seconds, the flames devoured the room. And as they did, she noticed the book's contents—fluttering pages inked with indecipherable runes and grotesque demonic sigils, writhing as if alive.
The ink shimmered in the blaze, then turned to ash.
And then—she heard it.
Whispers. Low, slithering, impossible whispers thickening the air. Like distant chanting, or a thousand voices reciting forbidden words.
Aiko froze. She thought it might be an hallucination—oxygen deprivation—but the fire was still small, her lungs full of air.
Before she could think, heavy footsteps approached outside—chaotic, angry.
"That little brat set something on fire! When I get my hands on her, I'll—"
"Idiot! Bring the fire extinguisher!"
"If she's injured or disfigured, the ritual will fail! You'll answer to the High Priest himself!"
Their voices grew closer.
Hopelessness crushed her chest. She clenched her teeth until her jaw hurt. Tears refused to fall.
"It's too late… This fire can't even kill me fast enough…"
With that thought, Aiko raised the iron shard high. Tilting her head to expose her slender white throat, she slashed—hard.
Blood gushed like a waterfall, soaking the half-burned demon book.
Her body fell. Darkness swelled in her fading sight.
I'm dying… I never did anything wrong… and yet I have to die like this.
While those monsters keep living—hurting more innocent people.
I prayed so many times—to God, to angels—but no one ever answered.
And now, even for suicide, I'll be condemned to Hell?
Then fine. Let me fall among devils.
If some wicked god exists—take my body, my soul! Take everything! Just make them pay—every one of them!
She didn't know what kind of evil such a god might be.
But she knew one thing: the cult deserved destruction more than anything that breathed.
If there is an evil god… if there really is…
Her consciousness dissolved.
When justice abandons the world, hatred calls to greater darkness—and sometimes, something answers.
The air trembled violently. The fire bent backward, frozen mid-flicker.
A thick, viscous presence rippled through the basement.
And from within the flames, a black figure emerged, vast and formless.
Time stopped. Even the fire no longer moved—its glow warped like molten glass.
A deep, resonant voice echoed across the stillness.
"Taisu… answers the call."
"Maiden, surrender everything. What I seek is devotion deeper than love itself."
"Then—your wish shall be granted."
For all his blasphemy, all his hunger, the god of corruption had come only for the sweetness of her offering.