The man howled in pain, but he just laughed again.
"Yes, My Lord! Please kill me! It will be my greatest honor….. Dying as a nobody in Amoreas is not meant for someone as broken as me. The dread you bring is what I live for my whole life, you must take that life from me as well! My adoration for you is boundless, and I shall die happily from your glorious hands!"
Pavor's eye twitched. Although this kind of thing may not be considered as genuine 'love', it was a form of romanticizing him, which he still detests.
He had no use for these sick fantasies if it does not result in fear. He feeds on fear, and what they're giving him is rubbish affection and obsession. It was not even directed towards himself, but to the idea of dying by the Lord of Dread's hands.
He stepped on the man's hand harder.
"Do it yourself. Take your own life in my territory for all I care, but make it quick. Stop yapping about your adoration for me and how it's a great honor to be slain by me."
He spat on the ground. "I don't owe you anything, especially not the satisfaction of dying from my hands!"
People would often think that evil gods do not have devouts like this, but in fact, their devouts were much worse than those for the 'good' gods.
He walked away, leaving the man to be begging and screaming on these coal shores. "Wait, My Lord! Please! Don't go... Give me more pain if you enjoy it, I deserve it! I am among the scums of the earth, please let me be slain by you!"
Pavor kept on walking and only spared one glance towards the suicidal man. Then...
He noticed something standing over him amidst the fog.
A man wearing a black shroud, his whole face and body unseen. But….
A sliver of his golden hair shone through the darkness, peeking out from the hood. He offered up his hand to the suicidal worshipper, saying nothing.
The worshiper looked up, but he was already blind. And yet, he can sense the presence of this mysterious being. He raised his hand, reaching out…
And instantly, he was healed. A golden light surrounded him, instantly returning him back to his former state. Even his tattered clothes were pristine again, which Pavor realized was from the Kingdom of Liberia due to its vibrant colors and patterns.
The Liberian must have been a performer, or a street jester. His orange hair was cut like a porcupine's, fashioned to be wild and spontaneous. He must have been in his 20s, which was not surprising to Pavor.
It's always the younger ones who think they had experienced every trial there was to life that becomes like this.
Some were truly pitiful souls that had gone through so much trauma that living for them was simply a much worse fate than death.
But Pavor had found that most of these 'suicidals' were spoiled brats that break down when they encounter minor inconveniences and are not used to things not going their way.
Or some of them simply loved the thrill of romanticizing death and evil. Too bored with their 'normal' lives that they seek something else. Some have insecurities and feel like they wouldn't amount to anything, so they give up on life easily.
Whatever their reason was, Pavor did not care. He found them tedious and annoying. Possibly due to his hatred for all humans....
Or maybe because he was repulsed by the idea that people would 'love' him instead of fear him.
But this hooded figure does not detest the suicidal man.
He helped the Liberian performer to his feet, and said, "Come with me."
The Liberian was astonished. "M-My Lord…?"
Pavor was equally surprised by the actions of this figure, and it dawned upon him who he was once he heard his voice. That quiet voice with that was somber like a monk, yet firm and gave the sense that he could protect you.
Suddenly, the holographic screen appeared once more amidst the heavy smoke in the air.
[Mission: Follow the Lord of Dread and learn his plans to gain 250 points.]
Pavor didn't really need the mission to tell him what to do. He had already set out to tail the figure shrouded in black and the Liberian, wanting to satisfy his own personal curiosity.
He also had a few questions he would like this shrouded figure to answer.
The winds howled like a thousand wolves, and yet the figure moved through it with ease. The Liberian was having a harder time, but it seemed that whatever power this man had was protecting him from the precarious environment.
The golden light that this figure emanated helped Pavor to keep track of him as sandstorms came. In the past, he did not really need to travel on foot as he could simply fly or transport himself through the shadows. But even without Tudo's spells, he could still travel around the Outlands as easily as a minor deity or demon would.
After perhaps half an hour of walking, they have spotted a large chasm. And on top of the chasm was a floating piece of land. On that land was a castle…..
No, it was not a castle. It was simply a large pitch black cave, shaped to resemble one from a distance.
This cave was home to only one person.
No footmen or guards stood by the entrance. No servants would be spotted inside. For what use were they for the owner of this abode?
A god does not need protection, or food, or anyone.
Especially a very isolated god with no true friends and companions, only subordinates. The Lord of Dread had always preferred to be alone.
And yet….
Pavor could see movement within the cave, and realized that there were indeed people there. They were not servants, as they do not seem to be involved in cleaning and maintaining the cave. They were….
"My Lord, why are you taking me to your home?" The Liberian asked, his purple eyes wide in awe from what was before him.
"You are my guest. Along with the others." The Lord of Dread said plainly.
Rocks suddenly floated from somewhere within the deep chasm, forming a staircase.
He offered his hand to the Liberian once more and simply said. "Come."
It was not a command. It was an invitation, with a hint of warmth to it.
The shrouded figure barely shows any emotion from his face or tone of voice. He was a true stoic, in the sense that he was not distant or cold for show, but only because he had great control on how he expresses himself. Not easily swayed by anything.
But he knows how to encourage someone, to stave off their apprehension. The Liberian was nervous but still took his hand, not questioning him any further.
When they reached the top, the other guests bowed their heads to welcome the Lord of Dread.
"My Lord." They all said in unison.
They don't seem to show him respect out of fear, but genuine fondness. Their love for their leader.
"Everyone, please welcome our new guest." The Lord of Dread turned to the Liberian. "You may introduce yourself."
The Liberian still looked a bit baffled, but complied. "My name is Farce…. F-Farce Artiste."
The Lord of Dread nodded. "Welcome, Brother Farce. Please join us for dinner."
Everybody moved to Farce to acquaint themselves with him, and they all seemed to be truly interested in him. They talked to him as if one of their own, making him feel welcome. The suicidal Liberian was astonished at first, but suddenly felt at ease with everyone.
Because they were just like him.
They shared stories of how they had arrived in the Outlands, with the full intention to die on its shores. And the Lord of Dread appeared before them, taking them under his wing. They have lived in his home ever since, conversing with him and the other guests.
Feeling like they had found a family. A home.
Pavor listened in, hiding in the shadows as they walked inside the cave. It was a good thing he knew every nook and crevices, and so being stealthy was a piece of Erosith cake for him.
He narrowed his eyes at this revelation, trying to understand the reasoning behind the Lord of Dread's actions. Was it out of pity? Or was he simply just that charitable?
It was something certainly unexpected for a God of Fear to do.
He found a shortcut to walk past the guests, and reached the dining table faster than they did. There was a long table there, one that he remembered, but that table was never meant to actually be occupied by a lot of people.
It was to remind him that he was alone in this world, and that he does not need anyone to own such a long table. He was fine in his own company.
At least, that was what Pavor tells himself. A memory snaked in again in his mind, placing specters of people in that table...
Little children, and a couple who loved each other very much.
He blocked the memory off, and emerged from the shadows to confront his primary concern at the present.
"Xarian."
Pavor said the name, unsure how it even sounded in his mouth as he said it.
Was it full of hatred? Agitation? Or…..
The shrouded figure turned to him, wearing a smile.
An actual pure and genuine smile.
"Lord of Dread. We meet again." Xarian said, as he went on one knee and bowed to Pavor.
Just like that day he killed him.