The shadow writhed as if it were a living being of its own, its subtle pulsing hinting at a subdued frenzy that flared intermittently.
A fear crept over the pope and the Magic Tower lord – the dread that it might consume them starting from their toes.
Their mouths, which had spoken so carelessly, now fell silent.
“Another god.”
Chaos Evil, still outwardly nonchalant, rose slowly from the throne.
His eyes, red as blood, looked straight ahead yet seemed to reflect nothing at all.
For a moment, he stood unmoving, like a statue.
“O Darkness begotten by Light…?”
“Exiled Regressor…?”
The two humans each addressed him by a separate title.
But he, lost in thought as though drawn into a sticky, dark abyss, gave no response.
“Another god…”
He repeated his murmur.
His voice and gaze took on a dazed quality, as though in a trance.
Only then did a very old sense of incongruity fall into place.
Was it before he began regressing?
The first time Aillet Rodeline manifested the aura of…