That's right. A good old-fashioned religious showdown, the kind that, back in her world, would've had entire nations waging holy wars just to prove whose god had the biggest fan club. The kind where non-believers were either converted or canceled permanently.
And here she was, smack dab in the middle of it, feeling like some kind of divine mastermind. Of course, she wasn't the first to come up with this whole "worship-me-or-else" concept, credit where credit's due, religious zealots had been running this playbook for centuries.
But hey, if it worked, it worked.
She clasped her hands together, her expression the picture of saintly benevolence. "All of us are sinners," she began, her voice dripping with faux holiness. "But even so, we are forgiven, given another chance at life, at redemption, at—" she paused for dramatic effect, "hope, " then stepped beside Clara, resting a gentle yet undeniably possessive hand on the woman's shoulder. The kind of grip that said, 'You are now a part of my divine PR campaign.'
The girl stiffened. Probably realizing she'd just been promoted to Religious Poster Girl.
"And who was it that gave you that hope?"
The crowd murmured.
The girl swallowed. "Y-You did, O Holy One?"
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[Mission Completed: Ruination System - Sixth Mission]
Objective Status: Achieved
Reward: +100 Ruination Points (RN)
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Serafine sighed dreamily. "Ugh, I love hearing that."
A reluctant grin tugged at the Clara's lips, part relief, part oh-no-what-now fear. She wasn't getting beheaded today, but she was caught in Serafine's web. And if there was one thing Serafine knew, it was that smart prey didn't just accept their fate, they waited. Lurking. Plotting. Just biding their time before they flipped the script and became the predator.
But that wasn't today's problem.
No, today's problem was the burning sensation of pure, unfiltered murder stabbing her straight in the back.
Mariella.
Serafine didn't even have to turn around to see the woman's glare. No, she could feel it—like daggers, like hot pokers, like the wrath of every woman scorned in the history of ever.
'I'm so dead…'
Slowly, very slowly, she risked a glance.
'Yep.'
Mariella looked one breath away from setting her on fire with sheer willpower alone.
Serafine swallowed. 'Okay. No big deal. I've survived worse. I can talk my way out of this… right?'
The crowd had finally dispersed, and for the first time all day, peace settled over them like a warm, suffocating blanket. They had been given a small house to stay in, small being the key word, considering it barely had enough space for three people and Serafine's ego.
Still, the day had been exhausting.
Convincing people, spinning stories, making them believe, it was nothing new. It was basically just politics. Make grand speeches, let the masses clap like trained seals, and then bask in the glory of their devotion.
Ah, nostalgia.
Thud!
Mariella stood there, a gentle smile on her lips. Too gentle. Too sweet. The kind of sweet that made your teeth ache before you even tasted it.
"Lady Savior," she cooed.
That tone. That smile. The way her eyes opened just a little wider, revealing something dark, something sharp—
She was so dead.
"What are you going to do with that girl, hm?"
Serafine didn't need divine wisdom to recognize pure, unfiltered jealousy when she saw it.
Her survival instincts kicked in.
"U-Uh…" she choked, backing up a step.
If there was one thing politicians were infamous for, aside from their questionable morals and ability to lie with a straight face, it was the inevitable drama involving jealous lovers.
Not that she ever had a lover in her past life. No, she was far too busy basking in her own self-importance to bother with trivial things like romance.
But now?
Well. She certainly seemed to have acquired an unofficial lover. One she, technically, made into a widow.
And, as much as she loved to dodge responsibility, she supposed she had to own up to that one.
Serafine raised her hands in surrender, backing up slowly as Mariella advanced like a cat ready to attack.
"I… I told you, it's to convert her."
"Convert how?"
Serafine gulped. "M-My love, you're so scary right now…"
The effect was instantaneous.
Mariella's entire demeanor shifted.
Her murderous aura fizzled out, replaced with wide, sparkling eyes and a deep blush creeping up her cheeks. She clutched her face like a maiden in a romance novel, her voice turning into a meek whisper.
"O-Oh… I'm sorry…"
'Ah, noted.'
Calling her "my love" was now an instant de-escalation tactic.
"A-Ah… Am I really your love?" Mariella asked, voice trembling with both hope and something far more dangerous.
Serafine smiled, leaning in as if she were about to bestow a sacred blessing. "Of course," she murmured before pressing a soft kiss to Mariella's lips.
It was supposed to be sweet. Tender. Brief.
Instead, it set off something inside Mariella, something that led to their very modest little house suddenly became the loudest structure in the entire town.
Walls that had once stood peacefully now bore witness to unholy noises. Their humble abode shook with every cry of devotion... or was it worship?. Rgrettably, there were two unfortunate souls outside who heard everything.
Calix stood, his wide, innocent golden eyes filled with the kind of horror that no battlefield could ever compare to.
"Let's not…" he whispered, voice hoarse, as if speaking any louder would curse him for eternity. "You know… acknowledge this."
Clara, standing beside him, nodded frantically. "Yes… let's never speak of this."
An unspoken pact of silence was made between them. A sacred, necessary vow for their mental well-being.
Hours Later, the door creaked open.
Serafine emerged, stepping into the sun looking as radiant as ever. Fresh, glowing, and suspiciously smug.
Her clothes, however?
Absolutely stolen.
She had helped herself to a poor man's wardrobe, donning a slightly oversized cloak, a loose shirt, and pants that were definitely not hers.
Not that it mattered. A chosen one was entitled to divine compensation.
Still adjusting her stolen attire, she glanced at Calix and Clara, who, by all accounts, had the haunted look of war veterans.
"...What?" she asked, arching a brow.