(Planet Granada, Mauriss's POV)
Mauriss sat slouched, his chin resting on his palm as rivulets of rain coursed down his bare shoulders, his black hair floating upward unnaturally as he looked thoroughly bored.
His lips twitched, curling into something between a smile and a grimace, though his eyes were flat, lifeless, fixed on the far horizon where Juxta once burned.
He had made the perfect plan to draw Soron out.
He had cast the perfect bait in the form of Raymond, and yet no good had come from it, as in the end, there was no divine retribution.
"Nothing..." Mauriss whispered, his tongue rolling lazily over his teeth. "Not a flicker.
Not a twitch. Not even a finger raised. Your beloved underling Charles died. His armies fell. His people screamed. And still you did not come."
His words slurred into laughter, then cracked into silence as the rain hit his tongue, his jaw snapping shut like a predator that had bitten into emptiness.
"Strange. Very strange."
He cocked his head violently to one side, fingers curling against his cheek until his nails drew thin lines of blood. He didn't seem to notice, his gaze darting back and forth as though chasing answers no one else could see.
"This isn't like you, Søron. Not at all. You've spent centuries shielding your wretched Cult, dragging them through one slaughter after another. You've thrown yourself into hopeless wars for lesser causes. And now? When Raymond's dogs defile your own fortress-world, you do nothing?"
Mauriss chuckled low in his throat, his nails dragging higher until he licked the blood off them one by one, his tongue savoring the copper taste with something close to reverence.
"No. No, no, no... you're not the sort of man to sit idle while your house burns. Which means... either you are dead, or you are elsewhere."
He let the thought linger, stretching it like a taut string between his fingers, eyes rolling as he bit his lip hard enough to split it.
"Dead. Hah! No, that's too dull. Too disappointing. You wouldn't die quietly like that. No... if you were dead, Kaelith would have dissolved the Righteous Alliance by now and would be at my throat to hunt me down."
Mauriss shook his head, muttering to himself as though speaking to a chorus that only he could hear.
"So then... away. Yes, yes... refining the Origin Metal.
Perhaps you're planning the ultimate revenge against us.... Your final shot at revenge.
Yes, that has to be it. You're licking your wounds, aren't you? Quietly. Secretly. Far away. While your little pets squeal and die by the billions."
Mauriss muttered as his grin returned, wide, boyish, almost innocent, until it cracked too far and became grotesque.
"How utterly, utterly boring."
He rocked forward, burying his face into his palms, laughter shaking his shoulders though his voice broke into sobs halfway through, a child denied his favorite toy.
"Do you have any idea how long I waited for this, Soron? For the great Timeless Assassin's favorite son to step into the sky again, drenched in blood, your aura splitting the heavens? I wanted to see it. To taste it. To feel the storm your legend promises."
His hands slipped down, dragging across his face, smearing rainwater with blood until his eyes gleamed like fractured glass.
"And now... nothing. You robbed me, Soron. You robbed me of my entertainment. You robbed me of my show."
His gaze snapped toward the invisible distance of Juxta's grave, pupils dilated, breath uneven, as he snarled.
"And because of that, Kaelith's little boy survives. The pet he grooms, the heir he molds, the one I wanted to see torn apart between you and me. But no... he will live now. He will thrive. All because you refused to crawl out of your hole."
Mauriss's nails dug so deep into his thighs that blood welled beneath them, his breath catching before he erupted into shrieking laughter, the sound piercing and wild as it carried across the endless ocean.
"AAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!"
His voice cracked, laughter rolling into screams, screams rolling back into laughter, until he bent backward on the rock, his body convulsing like a man possessed. His hair writhed upward, caught in the storm, his teeth gnashing as spittle and blood flew from his lips.
"You think you've denied me, Soron? No. No. You've only delayed the joy. Because whether you are gone or hiding, the day will come when you crawl out again. And when you do, I'll be waiting. Oh, I'll be waiting."
His eyes widened, all trace of composure gone, his words spilling out in a hiss between ragged breaths.
"And when I finally see you fight, when I finally see your blood, when I finally tear open your wounds with my own hands—"
He paused, grinning so wide it split his lip further, blood trickling down his chin as he licked it up with feverish delight.
"—I will make it last. I'll make it last for years."
The storm howled across Granada, lightning splitting the black skies, but Mauriss sat unmoved, trembling with glee, his shoulders rising and falling as the echoes of his laughter bled into the rain.
Yet beneath the madness, beneath the shrieks and spasms, lay something far more dangerous than disappointment—patience.
For in his twisted, cracked mind, Soron's absence was not an ending.
It was simply the delay of the greatest show Mauriss had ever longed to see.
"I hope you return clutching an Origin Metal blade, Soron, so that I can plunder it from your corpse and finally stand on equal footing with Kaelith.
So yes, I truly hope you succeed in your quest, but understand this— while you chase glory, I will erase every inch of Cult land until there is nothing left for you to return to...
So that when you finally do come home with your precious weapon, you won't find celebration or sanctuary, but only despair and regret waiting for you on the other end."
Mauriss resolved, as he began planning the most brutal welcome-home ceremony for Soron once the great god returned.
(More chapters in Buyers club for TMT)