Chapter 100: The Church of the Stars (12)

The black comet was the Overlord Crestone.

A small part of Simon had always suspected the truth since Asterion warned him that he, Mardok, and all the other Zodiac Fiends were shards of it shaped by mortal fears. Lauriane had warned him that she could never find a miasma crystal of sufficient potency to create Overlord Vassal Classes.

Only the comet could have been powerful enough for the Overlord itself.

“Simon?”

Had the comet always been the Overlord Crestone since it first visited this world in times immemorial, changing its nature to match the nightmares of terrorized mortals until a certain archdemon found a way to harness it? Or had Mardok somehow usurped it in an ultimate act of brilliant megalomania, bending the primal chaos that created him into a tool of evil with Elios Magnos’ assistance? What purpose did the Crimson Throne serve in everything? Was it a mere symbol? A decoy, or an anchor for the Dark?

His vision was clouded with purple miasma, yet he couldn’t stop looking into the face of his Class, the shadow of his soul beckoning from the depths of the interstellar void…

“Lord Simon, your hand–”

The more Simon stared into the baleful visage of the Overlord Class, the more it drew him in. He sensed its will to dominate all life echo within him, its ceaseless hunger for power, its hatred for all those that would live without knowing the bitter sting of fear…

“By the Light…”

It called out to him, inviting him into its dark embrace so that they could bring order and discipline to an aimless universe, promising him all the planes’ wealth and pleasures, tempting him with the fulfillment of all of his most sinister desires…

Simon wrenched himself free from Abraxas’ gaze and forced himself back to reality, stumbling from the throne and barely catching himself. He looked around and found that the Templars present were pointing their weapons at him. Izulon had put on his Scholar Class outfit, and Mastemo gripped his staff with fury.

“What’s going–” Simon muttered, his hand reaching out for his forehead only to touch steel. The truth finally hit him then.

Simon was in his Overlord Class outfit.

His Class had come out in response to Abraxas’ call, revealing his true nature to everyone in the room and reveling in their dread. It refused to hide in the shadows when it could threaten, enslave, and intimidate.

Realizing the danger, Simon immediately attempted to teleport back to Shabram’s safehouse, only for a higher power to cancel out the effect and trap him in place.

Mastemo’s Holy Temple negated your teleportation.

Simon cursed under his breath. If Mastemo’s Holy Temple worked like his Lord of the Demon Castle, then its powers affected individuals of a lower level. The High Confessor outclassed him in power.

And he was furious.

“From the start…” Simon could almost taste the bitter, cold anger in Mastemo’s voice. “You deceived us from the start… to think that your vile magic could let you violate oaths to the Light and deceive the megaliths themselves…”

“I did not lie about my visions, nor Louis’ treachery,” Simon insisted in an attempt to salvage the situation. “I had to–”

“Silence!”

Mastemo never raised his voice, but his shout now echoed through the observatory, his words heavy with condemnation.

“I trusted you! I believed in you! I welcomed you into these hallowed halls and did my best to let you feel welcomed, and you bit my hand in return like a viper!” His anger sounded utterly sincere, then gave way to bitterness. “To think I caressed the hope that you would be the next Paladin… that you could help us save this world and shepherd it to true peace… how could I be so blind…”

“We can still save the world together, Your Excellency,” Simon argued, his finger pointing at the nightsky. “That comet is the real threat! It will wake the Zodiac Fiends and unleash destruction upon us all, as it did time and time again across history! With my help, we can save–”

“Save? Save?! What can you save with your lies?!” Mastemo froze as a terrible idea crossed his mind. “You let your companions die on that mountain, didn’t you? Or did you kill them yourself to protect your shameful secret?”

This wasn’t going well. “The Zodiac Fiend–”

“Spoke the truth!” Mastemo snapped back, his hand holding his mask. “I thought its story was unbelievable, that there was no way you could be the Overlord walking among us, but now… now I see you for what you are!” He raised his staff and pointed it at the night sky. “This… this abomination is the face of evil incarnate, and I see now why it chose you as its champion! You have Mardok’s gift for lies, Gargauth’s greed for secrets, and your father’s ruthlessness! You are a false savior that will lead us all to ruin!”

Wait, Exodeos’ spirit whispered to Mastemo behind Simon’s back? Was that why the High Confessor had tested out the limits of his Templar oath a few days ago? Only individuals capable of becoming hosts could hear those whispers.

Something didn’t add up.

“How could you hear a Zodiac Fiend’s whispers?” Simon asked, a chill traveled down his spine as he realized why the High Confessor had felt so familiar. It couldn’t be… “What shameful truth are you hiding under your mask, Your Excellency?”

Mastemo remained silent for a few seconds, then raised a finger at Simon. “Kill this heretic!” he ordered his Templars. “Kill–”

Simon immediately triggered his Dreadful Aura and cast a Chaos Wave that sent the Templars nearest to him flying back. The blast sent the telescope throne flying, hitting Izulon, while Mastemo slammed his staff against the floor to anchor himself.

Simon immediately sensed an immense weight suddenly pressing down on him. The burden of his sins and guilt moved from metaphysical to a physical reality, weakening him and draining him of his strength.

Mastemo’s Holy Temple branded you as a heretic! All stats debuffed! Castigation status! You cannot recover lifeforce or mana! Your Light vulnerability has worsened!

Realizing fighting inside Mastemo’s home turf was suicidal, Simon attempted to summon his phantom steed in an attempt to escape, only for the Perk to fail. With no way out, he cast Devil’s Arm and extended his hand at Mastemo. His nail-claws grabbed the High Confessor’s mask before he could react and sank into its polished mirror surface.

Hoping that the Cleric shared all spellcasters’ weakness to close-ranged combat, Simon then pulled the High Confessor towards him in an attempt to take him as a hostage. He managed to pull in the man an inch before a pillar of light appeared out of nowhere and struck Simon’s elbow with searing power. Pain spread through his incinerated flesh and bones, and his severed arm fell to the ground with a thump.

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Ugh, the Cleric could cast prayers nonverbally! Simon powered through the pain and covered his bleeding stump with his remaining hand as he furiously considered battle tactics… only to freeze.

His claws had ripped off part of Mastemo’s mask. The piece covering the upper left part of his face was gone, allowing Simon to glimpse at the truth beneath it.

A green eye glared at him behind a small tuft of pinkish hair that failed to obscure a cyan, shining stone stuck in the middle of his forehead. It was buried so deep in Mastemo’s wrinkled flesh that only the tip peeked out of his skin, but Simon immediately recognized its baleful gleam.

A miasma crystal.

“You’re one of them,” Simon realized in horror.

“You know nothing, deceiver,” Mastemo replied, waving his hand at him. “Down with thee! Fall into the Abyss!”