Headed by a Snake

The momentum that came with the striking of Bella's hat... came with an unfortunate additional consequence.

Bella's circular spectacles were dislodged from her face.

Tycondrius... saw... light.

His sensory perception of everything... touch, taste, time, balance, temperature, motion, spiritual *distress* was inundated by light.

He saw visions of glory.

He saw the Laws of reality bending to their breaking point.

He lived through a thousand waking nightmares, everything he'd seen and forgotten in lifetimes prior, the strikingly few instances of crowning achievements counterbalanced by the so many pain-wracked, miserable failures.

Tycon tried to shield his eyes from the mana being released.

But, of course, the insignificance of his flesh and bone didn't do a f*cking thing.

He undimmed his vision, trying to offset the brilliance with the magic of his Ancient Bloodline.

He felt his life-force burning away? Or perhaps it was his soul?

He beheld the heavens and the endless stars in the sky. He saw Realms beyond the ken of understanding.

He saw himself, stripped and scourged of his mask of professionalism. He saw his every impossible fear, every personal inadequacy, compounding and folding over itself until all that remained was the wish to be undone.

He saw a sad, broken snake, desperately trying and failing at keeping his brittle mind intact.

⟬ Bella Sapphira, Heaven-Rank Witch. ⟭

Her glasses...

They were a limiter.

And with her powers released in full, Bella was a mere half-step away from being a literal god.

Then suddenly... the invisible pressure eased.

And once again, he was whole.

Tycon clasped his hands together to prevent them from shaking-- to prevent his entire being from unraveling.

He focused his mana towards his mouth and neck... his tongue and vocal chords. His lips had parted, yet he lost his voice to speak.

In the seconds that passed-- seconds that felt like entire suns crossing the skyline, Bella had retrieved her glasses, donning them once more.

It was the same for her hat.

She must have really liked that hat.

"You get one guess," she said.

Tycon roughly cleaned his face with his sleeve.

He swallowed the bile in his throat.

...He reaffirmed his existence in the material plane.

And he made his guess:

"Goddess..."

"Of?" Bella prompted.

"Goddess... of Witches."

Bella's jaw dropped in mock disbelief, "Goddess of Magic, Tycon. How the-- I... Ugh. I am *amazed* by how highly everyone thinks of you, considering you'd probably flunk out of basic Ne-cro-nomics."

Tycon crossed his arms, though his movements remained haltered and uncertain, "'Goddess of Magic' was m-my second guess."

"You'll never achieve Second-Circle."

"I d'n wanna 'chieve Second-Circle," Tycon mumbled.

He was aware that it was practically impossible for him to develop his mana heart to achieve Second-Circle normalcy. However, hearing it directly from the Goddess of Magic was more hurtful than he expected.

"You were wrong, Tycon," Bella declared. "Admit it."

"I already have," Tycon seethed. "But, I say again: my second guess would have been--"

"For killing all those people, lizard-brain," the Witch corrected.

Tycon folded his hands together. It still felt surreal to have been killed and reborn so many times, then immediately after, expected to carry on with meaningful conversation.

"I'm a little surprised you aren't dead, by the way," Bella remarked.

"Bella..." Tycon said, his face slowly twisting into a scowl... "You don't... care about the humans."

The Magic Witch Goddess crossed her arms, generally displeased.

Tycon raised an eyebrow... "Fact check."

"...I don't," Bella admitted.

"Then why... in the seven hells... have you been going on about them?" Tycon groaned.

Bella did not respond.

"I'd like to know... who *else* has a problem with my actions?" Tycon asked.

Bella took a deep breath, averting her gaze, "Some of the gods remain undecided..."

Tycon took a deep breath... before waving in exasperation, "The gods cannot directly intervene in this war. You seem to be an exception-- would you kindly sate my curiosity on the matter?"

"I am... a Successor," Bella sighed. "I'm still growing into my divinity, kinda like Krysaos is. But unlike him, I'm in-the-know."

Tycon twisted his lips to the side.

"Then from what I understand... your *vexation* stems from the negative opinions of *other* gods... neutral gods, perhaps? --or, otherwise, gods who have yet to be swayed to support our cause."

"Oi," Bella scowled. "Why are you trying to turn this on me?"

"I'm not," Tycon said sternly, "I'm trying to understand."

"...Then-- yeah," Bella admitted, "I guess that sums it up."

The Witch's anger had diminished somewhat, if her general relaxation was a reliable indicator.

She still looked generally frustrated with him, but the look in her eyes had softened considerably.

Tycon pursed his lips, weighing his words carefully...

"Bella... honestly, can those gods be realistically appeased by someone like me? Or any mortal, for that matter?"

"Well... y-yeah?" Bella offered.

"They expect a Hero, I assume."

"You assume correctly."

"And anything *short* of a Hero?" Tycon prodded, "Would that be acceptable?"

Bella kept her mouth shut. She knew the answer.

But Tycon spoke anyroad. He enjoyed being correct and was counting on his Witch-companion not having a proper response.

"No matter what I do, Bella, I will never be a Hero. My actions, my achievements... and my shortcomings are immaterial. The gods have already chosen their allegiances."

Bella closed her eyes and bowed her head.

"And what will you do when the Hero arrives?" She asked.

"As you might expect," Tycon shrugged. "I'll tell the boy to leave this gods-forsaken Realm and never return."

Bella kept her stare hard for several more seconds... before realizing it was useless.

The Witch sighed wistfully.

"This Realm is really f*cked, isn't it?" she said.

"Oh, most definitely," Tycon nodded. "Though, I must admit... I welcome any constructive criticism from here-on. I respect you that much."

"I'm a literal god, Tycon. You have to respect me."

"Hmph. You have my respect, Bella," Tycon smirked, "but not for your divinity."

Bella breathed another sigh, "Whatever. I don't even care anymore."

"I'm glad that's settled," Tycon said as he limped away.

He needed to tend to his burns and his side was aching tremendously.

"Tycon."

Unfortunately, it seemed that Bella wasn't finished with him.

He spun around on his heels to face her, "Yes?"

"...You were innocent once."

Tycon looked into Bella's eyes.

He sensed... unfathomable disappointment.

Thus, he chose not to respond.

The previous-him would never return. If Bella chose to mourn, that was her right.

...

⟬ A few minutes and several healing potions later... ⟭

"How is a Goddess of Magic not versed with the Speak with Dead Spell?" Tycon groaned.

Bella rolled her eyes.

"How can a Maedar barely achieve First-Circle after over a century and a half?"

"Because I count the most powerful casters in the Realm among my allies," Tycon shrugged.

"I'm still upset with you, Tycon."

"You'll get over it after dinner."

Bella crossed her arms as she walked, "And a shoulder massage."

Tycon furrowed his brows, "Are you implying that I would willingly grant you such a favor? You tried to kill me not ten minutes prior."

Bella turned up her nose in arrogance, "But did you die? Get over yourself. You're the only Gold-Rank Martial Class within malms."

"...Dragan should arrive by tomorrow, assuming all had gone well on the western front."

"Dragan doesn't have a *real* Martial Class," Bella said as she squinted her eyes and leaned forward, "You, however, do. You'll have to make yourself useful."

Tycon swung about the severed arm he was keeping, gesturing all around him, "I'm responsible for heading this entire operation."

"Well done~ Want me to bake you a cookie?"

"If I'm to judge your baking ability by the quality of your alchemists," Tycon sneered, "then I suspect you're *still* trying to kill me."

Bella ceased her steps. Turning to face Tycon, she placed her hands on her hips and tilted her head.

"And if was to judge your intelligence by the quality of your wit," she said, "then I'm sorry to tell you, but you've suffered brain-death epochs ago."

"...You don't sound sorry," Tycon muttered.

He was too miserable to argue overlong. Bella was able to clean and repair his clothes, but after alchemical healing, the blisters left over itched terribly.

He felt like he was molting.

--last he checked, humans were *not* supposed to molt.

"You have questions that need answering, no?" Bella mused as she used ⌈Air Walk⌋ to keep pace. "I'll help you write a Scrying-type ritual after dinner-- and that massage."

"Unfortunately, the questions I have lack a certain level of precision," Tycon shook his head, "hence the need for a dialogue with the recently departed..."

He again gestured to the severed arm he kept in-hand. He didn't keep the grisly trophy because he enjoyed it.

The last remaining Making General and his cronies were fanatical worshippers of the lizard god. Tycon ended them with great prejudice... but the fact that they fought with such zeal gave him cause for concern.

The enemy had Domination-Mages; that was a valid explanation. Such Spells accepted willingly were exponentially effective.

However, just that was not enough to assuage Tycon's concerns.

Making was a City of Secrets, concealing their Divine Armors from the rest of the Eastern States and waging way from labyrinthine underground bases.

If they had yet more unsecrets to uncover, he would have them annihilated.

",

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