595. Iscario and His Price of Paradise

595. Iscario and His Price of Paradise

The long footpath eventually led to the second wall of Markers. Within resided an inner layer where the houses were built far more extravagantly but were smaller in scale.

From the cursive writing of family names in a language that Frost still didn’t understand, to grand gardens and fountains of gold; Frost guessed that this belonged to the nobility of Puritas. Her other clue came from the number of well-dressed humans that roamed the streets.

The apparitions of the past revealed Demi-humans dressed equally as nicely, for they were the dedicated and chosen servants of these noble families. Harems of Demi-humans followed their masters. Soldiers made up of Demi-humans protected platinum-encrusted carriages.

They were the lucky ones but were also another source of misery for the Demi-humans beyond these walls. Classism between the Demi-humans existed because of this segregation, resulting in violence even amongst Demi-humans.

The voice of a cat-eared man kicking the teeth out from another who could have easily been mistaken for their brother uttered. In the place of his apparition was another Marker. Lament, despair, regret lingered stagnantly in the air. The same emotions that were felt on that day remained here for over fifteen years.

And for those same fifteen years he repented in the form of a Marker. Frost didn’t say a word. Neither could she hear anyone else’s aside from these beings. She was lost in a sea of countless chatters, both which reacted to her, repeating the same phrase of: “Black hair.” And “Princess.”

Whilst others recited moments of their life, often spoken with endless regret.

The Pale Web had a stronger presence here, smearing the gold and wrapping various stray Markers like cocoons.

It did little to stop Frost from extracting the sweet golden flesh, which continued to stain Frost from head to toe in unwastable blood; the One Sin that these Markers bared. Her actions were a form of penance to them.

The plucking of their purulent hearts, which oozed with sweet puss was a noble sacrament that absolved the Markers. Frost felt heavy with each Marker she devoured, as if their One Sin had become hers.

The thought aggravated her.

Why did everything have to relate back to her?

Why were so many things affiliated with her existence?

Why was it until now that someone came along to help them?

I hate the people of this city. The circumstances that made them like that aren’t something that I can blame them for. When we judge people, we never take account for what led up to it. All that matters is what happened.

Which is even more nonsense with the idea of the One Sin.

The immense weight of now several devoured One Sins began to weigh on her as she followed the single, long trail towards the final wall of Markers.

“How can we all be blamed for the sin of one?” Frost could not begin to understand it. “Is it a double meaning? Is the One Sin something they’ve latched onto for all this time? Then why does the description state that we all have it inside of us?”

A voice that did not belong to the countless thousands spoke somewhere far ahead. It was in the same direction of the singing. The further Frost ventured into the heart of Paradise; the more light seemed to shine from the towering walls of the palace.

It was so bright that it appeared like a column of light. When she finally set foot into the inner and final walls of Paradise, she was met with a pallid garden that stretched as far as the eye could see.

And in the center, when the pillar of light died down, were the calcified walls of the palace. Nothing aside from the palace and the garden existed here.

As well as a graveyard of countless Markers.

Small, human-sized trees grew along the blades of grass. Tinges of green could still be seen from underneath the Pale Web, which sharpened the grass like they were starved for blood. For each tree there was a Marker, and for each blade of grass there were screams that slowly sept into Frost’s skull, nearly driving her mad.

The scenery was oddly reminiscent of the garden found within that facility in the old world. It was clearly… inspired by it.

“But how does that even make sense?” Frost asked.

She could have sworn she heard Nav speak, but alas, her voice was lost in the sea of chatter.

Only two voices pierced through the cacophony.

The first was the child that sang the nostalgic tune, and the second belonged to someone that instantly caused Frost to see red.

“ISCARIOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!”

The Pale Web cracked under the immense power of Frost’s movement. With a single lunge she left a crater-like imprint where she once stood as she threw herself in the direction of the voice, ready to eliminate the source.

In her mind she knew that this voice belonged to an apparition. But even so, Frost wanted nothing more than to at least enjoy the illusion of destroying the one person that condemned her to the Black Forest.

Trees immediately caught alight. Her violent onrush paved the earth as a column of shredded vegetation followed. After a solid minute of dashing in the direction of the song, she reeled her arm back and thrust it forward precisely where the sole figure of a younger Iscario stood.

Her fist crashed through his phantom head.

Though she hit nothing, her fist created a terrifying sonic boom that caused distant trees to become uprooted. The heat alone generated by her wrath continued to set more alight as a black, acrid cloud ate at the face she desperately wished to tear apart.

“YOU – OF ALL PLACES YOU DECIDE TO FINALLY SHOW YOURSELF HERE! EVEN IF YOU’RE JUST A PHANTOM –!”

Her fist moved down like a guillotine, slicing him in half. The ground shook and was lifted momentarily by the immense force of her fist. Ripples continued to move throughout the garden like the surface of a lake, further uprooting trees and meadows, leaving nothing but scorched dirt.

“YOU…” Frost heaved, clasping at her other hand as she felt the blood endlessly rush to her head.

Had she not held her other hand, then she would have struck him again. Luckily, some semblance of reason remained, allowing her to restrain herself from further assaulting this phantom.

But it did not change how she felt about seeing him again.

“… You… have no right to stand in front of me. Smiling… laughing. Pretending like you love your sister. Something like you can’t be capable of love.”

These words were obviously wasted on it. But she said them anyway to ease herself up, as well as bit her tongue to refrain from uttering more. It would be better to keep them for the real thing.

She instinctively took several steps back and turned her head away when she deeply inhaled. The mere thought of breathing the same air as the apparition of her mortal enemy caused her skin to crawl.

Once calmed down, the surrounding flames were sucked back into an open palm.

“So that’s what you looked like. Shorter hair and still white. Blue eyes and military garbs. Speckled with gold. How long ago was this?” Frost traced his eyes but was unable to find his sister. Yet the voice came from an empty spot where the sunlight seemed to focus on like a spotlight.

From there, a single pale lily grew.

He plucked the lily, inhaling its scent before he turned to the direction of a burned tree. Slowly, its branches were restored as if time was being reversed. Eventually, golden leaves grew from the tips of its branches, and attached to them were spectacular, golden apples the size of a human head.

The tree radiated a sacred energy oddly familiar to Frost. The blinding light that shone from the tip of the tree like a Christmas star was reminiscent of the same light that the Advent of Desire emitted.

That thing was the Advent of Judgement. She was certain of it. But why was it so…

It’s tiny. So small compared to the Advents we’ve seen. Do the apples make up for it in power? I wonder… But it’s not like I can check their status in this state either. Tch.

“Fifteen years?” Frost questioned, following Iscario as he walked towards the tree. “Maybe more? Was Iscario even a Star at this point?”

Nav didn’t answer.

Suddenly, the voices of countless disappeared all at once.

A figure hopped from behind the thick trunk of the golden tree. Her hands held behind her back as the wind carried her beautiful, long, pale hair. Her long, pale dress danced in the wind as her smile lit up the world like a ray of welcoming sunshine.

Frost’s heart stopped beating at that moment.

“She… she really does…”

That face which belonged to the princess of Puritas uncannily resembled her own. If she was any younger, then they would have been identical.

But there was still one key difference.

The girl’s hums subsided as she held out a moth gently cupped within her hands.

The difference was her eyes. It was a strange, blue-golden color that none of the healers nor Iscario seemed to possess. The coloration took Frost aback as she wandered closer to the girl.

Golden eyes were evident of a clear connection to the Captured Star as far as she could tell. So what was this girl’s connection with her? Not only that… but how much of this was real to begin with, considering that the Arbiter possessed golden eyes but came before the Captured Star?

The dark moth was exchanged for the lily Iscario had plucked earlier.

He continued:

Iscario removed a glove, brushing his sister’s hair affectionately. Small pieces of leaves and bark were plucked from her hair and crushed between his fingers.

The girl squeaked, her eyes sparkling at the mention of… Galia. Frost was not sure if Iscario at this point in time knew of Galia’s identity as the Colorless Incandescent, but it seemed that she was recognized by Puritas as such rather than Galia.

This meant that ‘Galia’ was seen as a separate entity at the time.

There was something sly about Iscario that Frost couldn’t put her finger on. Not only that, but if Galia truly was the leader of the 13th Order and Justica Arms at the time…

… then what exactly did she do to betray them?

The girl clutched her heart as her eyes seemed to sadly droop.

The girl shook her head.

Iscario’s presence caused her to tremble lightly. Her reaction to his sadistic tone hinted to an innate fear.

It was clear that his love for his sister was born from an obsession than familiar love. Couple that with his desire to control her, and one had a psychopath named Iscario.

Frost realized that her black hair could have easily been the sole reason for why he betrayed the Nexus. It didn’t seem so far-fetched anymore considering how obsessed he was over his sister.

He took her hair into his hands and inhaled her scent.

Iscario took his sister by the shoulders, turning her around as she lightly pushed her around the garden.

The moth was still held in his hand.

Iscario took a wing from the moth, removing its ability to fly.

Iscario continued to tear off its wings, then its limbs. The girl could not take her eyes away from it. Deep down Frost could hear the tiny voice speaking in her heart.

The princess blamed herself for its suffering.

Iscario continued his provocative monologue. He exploited his siter’s kindness to tame her. Holding something as small as a moth as hostage could make her obey him.

The last time Frost was repulsed like this was with the Septanids. Iscario was like that. An insect that manipulated and preyed on those weak. He toyed with his sister’s heart to bring him to his side of understanding.

Frost wondered if this was how he gathered the Impuritas together in the first place.

He concluded by squeezing the head of the moth with his thumb right before his sister’s eyes.

His hands coiled behind her, wrapping her in a cold embrace as her head sunk into his chest.