When Beacai was rescued by Yggdrasil, the Isis she encountered looked exactly as she did now. Thus, even after eighteen years of observing Isis, the image most deeply etched in her memory was that of Isis at the moment of her rescue.
Now, though Beacai smiled, her face was extraordinarily pale, and her breath came unevenly. It seemed the soul divine art she had just performed had severely overdrawn her divine power, leaving her in a state of profound weakness.
Isis, however, paid no attention to this. At present, she couldn’t even bear to look at Beacai. Struggling to her feet from the ground, she clutched her lower abdomen and slowly moved around Beacai.
“I’m tired,” she stated. “I’m going back to rest.”
“Go on,” Beacai replied. “A maid awaits you outside and will show you the way.”
Beacai did not try to stop her, nor did she follow. Instead, she turned around with a sweet smile, gazing at Isis’s retreating back and allowing her to leave.
Guided by the maid, Isis soon returned to the bedroom Beacai had prepared for her. The moment she entered, she collapsed onto the bed in disarray, one hand supporting her head, clearly in agony.
Ever since her soul had been corrupted by evil, the sacred aura of Yggdrasil that once enveloped her had vanished completely. In its place, absurd and unsettling thoughts arose sporadically, accompanied by a surge of irritable emotions she had never experienced before.
Even Beacai’s scarlet divine domain felt considerably more welcoming, while the warm sunlight that pierced through the clouds now struck her with a sense of aversion.
‘The former me would never have been like this!’ she thought with a pang.
Rising, she walked to the full-length mirror in the bedroom. She hesitated, clutching the hem of her skirt, before finally biting her lip and slowly lifting it, revealing her smooth, delicate lower abdomen—and a crimson evil mark.
The evil mark was a meticulously sculpted work of art, with graceful curves spreading outwards like a pair of wings. Yet, seeing it with her own eyes, Isis found no cause for a smile.
To be branded by an evil god was an indelible stain of disgrace that even Yggdrasil could not wash away.
To think she, who once supported the heavens and earth as a great deity, whose commands even ordinary gods dared not defy, was now imprinted with an evil mark by a mere evil god, struggling in her grasp in agony…
A torrent of complex emotions surged within her. She lowered her skirt with a cold huff, then exited the bedroom. From one of the armored knights lining the corridor, she drew a dagger.
Following the soul connection, she and Beacai now shared a life. While this brought her a potent surge of vitality, it also inextricably bound Beacai to her.
Should Isis perish, Beacai would perish alongside her.
Returning to the room, she gripped the dagger with both hands, pointing its tip toward her own heart.
This method of killing Beacai had occurred to her the moment she realized she was truly alive. Of course, Beacai might possess a way to circumvent death, but Isis was indifferent to that possibility.
Killing Beacai was merely one of her objectives; if it proved impossible, she wouldn’t force it. Simply ending her own life would be sufficient.
Living, only to endure endless torment—such a life, she refused to experience.
Taking a deep breath, she steeled her resolve and forcefully plunged the dagger towards her heart. Yet, just as the blade was about to pierce her gown, the floral circlet on her right wrist suddenly tightened, and an inexplicable divine power surged into her body.
Clang!
The dagger slipped from her grasp. She reeled as if struck by lightning, collapsing limply forward, her face hitting the cold floor. Her golden hair splayed in disarray, and her gaze grew unfocused.
Her consciousness departed in an instant; she almost ceased to feel her own existence. After a long moment, as sensation gradually returned, she gasped for air twice, her pupils slowly regaining focus.
‘What… what just happened?’
Her hands braced against the floor, but she was too weak to stand. She could only push herself halfway up, leaning against the bed, excruciating pain radiating throughout her body, extinguishing any desire to retrieve the dagger lying nearby.
‘I tried to kill myself, but the circlet suddenly tightened?’
The thought flashed through her mind, and she looked down at her right hand. The circlet there clung tightly to her wrist, glowing with a faint golden light.
‘This circlet… something is wrong with it.’
Just as she extended her left hand to try and remove it from her wrist, a concerned voice drifted in from outside the door.
“Mama? What’s wrong?”
The door opened, and Beacai, clad in a white divine gown, entered. Upon seeing Isis leaning against the bed, she quickly approached, asking with a hint of tension in her voice.
However, her tension was unmistakably laced with a touch of playfulness.
“…”
Isis ignored her, lowering her right hand and continuing to try and remove the circlet. It was then that Beacai noticed her small movements and covered her mouth, feigning surprise.
“Oh, did the divine art on the circlet activate? Mama, did you just do something foolish to yourself? How dreadful.”
Isis tried to remove the circlet, but it wouldn’t budge. After several attempts, she gave up, gasping for breath as she asked, “You… what did you do to the circlet?”
“Nothing much, really. As long as Mama doesn’t try to harm herself, this divine art won’t activate, you see.” Beacai replied, her hands clasped behind her back, an innocent expression on her face.
Her words caused Isis’s heart to sink, and she looked at the circlet with a mixture of shame and irritation.
“…You knew all along? So the gift you gave me was to prevent me from committing suicide?”
An evil god would never be so kind as to give her a gift. It was called a circlet, but in truth, it was a shackles meant to bind her.
Beyond that, she was astonished that Beacai had managed to anticipate her intentions.
“I couldn’t help it. Who could blame me when Mama’s actions are so predictable? If you hadn’t tried to commit suicide, I wouldn’t have embedded such a divine art in the circlet.”
Bending down, Beacai brought her face close to Isis’s, their eyes meeting. Compared to Isis’s indignation, Beacai’s expression was calm and leisurely, as if everything was perfectly under her control.
“As it turns out, I was right again.”
No sooner had she spoken than Isis, whose ability to move had fully returned, maneuvered around her, snatched up the dagger from the floor, and swiftly plunged it towards her own heart.
Yet, the outcome was no different from before.
The dagger clattered to the floor, and Isis collapsed in agony once more, her gaze unfocused, her consciousness blurred, like a lifeless corpse. After a long while, her pupils finally refocused, and she regained awareness.
She gasped for several breaths, her senses returning to her.
This repeated failure finally extinguished all hope within her. She struggled to sit up from the floor, her golden hair framing her desolate eyes, making her appear fragile and helpless, an object of pity.
Even Beacai’s heart softened at the sight.
She knelt before Isis, her voice gentler. “It’s no use, Mama. As long as you wear the circlet, you cannot kill yourself.”
“So, give up, Mama. Live with me.”