What should be done with this scum?
How many innocent people had already fallen prey to these monsters?
Countless victims—erased from existence, their remains lost—while behind these men's human faces hid hearts more vile than any demon's.
To anyone with a shred of justice or conscience, only death could be their rightful punishment.
But tragically…
Under the island nation's laws, where capital punishment was all but abolished, these fiends—who deserved death a thousand times over—would at worst be locked up for five or six years.
Or, if the cult leveraged its political connections, perhaps they would not face any punishment at all.
Perhaps justice would eventually find them?
Perhaps someone righteous would expose them and bring their crimes to light?
No.
The vermin in power were already in league with the cult. They would smother every trace of evil under polished press statements and empty smiles.
The few who dared to resist or speak the truth would simply… vanish.
Their bodies would rot somewhere deep at the bottom of the sea, sealed inside concrete drums.
That was the depth of Saikyō Aiko's despair—so complete that she no longer saw any hope, any horizon, even the faintest hint of light.
But now—something darker than despair had arrived to answer her call.
"Heehee… kill… how delightful!"
With that manic laugh, Taisu's colossal hand seized one cultist in mid-sprint. His fingers clamped down on the man's shoulders—then tore him apart like ripping apart a roasted chicken.
A wet shlkk—splorch! echoed through the basement as filthy entrails spilled across the floor.
Taisu exhaled a line of fire, and the twitching halves of the man's corpse went up in blazing ash.
If Saikyō Aiko was Taisu's vessel of transformation, then that fire was her power—the shape of her vengeance given divine form.
The flames she summoned burned with her fury, purging all evil in relentless agony until nothing remained but bone and regret.
Taisu laughed in sheer pleasure—not because evil had been judged or punished, but because—
Killing felt good.
There was no righteousness in it.
No justice, no divine balance.
He was reveling simply because these mongrels had interrupted his enjoyment—and worse, had dared to lay their filthy hands upon what was his.
So of course… it felt marvelous to kill them.
There needed be no further justification—only desire.
It was enough that he wanted to do it, and that doing it brought him rapturous pleasure.
And besides… his host's wish was the same.
She wanted every single one of these cultists dead.
Their thoughts merged, two wills entwined into a single malignant ecstasy.
Whether guilty or not, whether monster or man—it no longer mattered.
If you belong to the cult, then your fate is sealed.
Every last one of you—die.