Millennium Witch

Book 2: Chapter 168: Eldritch God

Anyone who’d had a brief brush with Moga described her the same way—cool, aloof, and unapproachable; an icicle that never melts atop a snow peak, or a lone wolf in the deep jungle licking its wounds.And if you asked whether there’d ever been a moment in her life when she resembled people’s idea of a soft, delicate girl, it would probably be now.

Honestly, though, if an icy, slick tendril wriggled into anyone’s clothes and glided along their skin, they’d be just as helpless and panicked as she was—like having a cockroach crawl up your pant leg.

She hit the ground and thrashed a few times, then forced down the urge to scream. Shame and grim resolve flared hotter than fear. She yanked out her short knife and, aiming at the tendril under her clothes, drove her hand down—better to die together than be toyed with by this disgusting thing!o serve as host or puppet—so long as she didn’t draw the attention of this world’s True Gods.

As for why she’d dived into the girl’s clothes—mind magic needed close contact to keep a link, and with other methods she couldn’t be sure the other party would cooperate.

Once she was sure the elf girl was compliant and quelled, Yvette eased the bindings. Borrowing the girl’s siphoned magic, she cast Shadowstep and folded her into the dark—to keep the commotion from drawing surrounding monsters.

Night fell. When the girl’s form surfaced again, she was standing in the dim treeline at the edge of Adelock.

“My lord… what should I do next?” Moga asked uneasily.

Yvette’s display of light-and-shadow magic had crushed her last scrap of wishful thinking. On the way back she had walked, and rifled through every scrap of lore on eldritch gods in her head.

She remembered how the great churches preached that eldritch gods lured believers by every means—and in the end would turn them into sustenance. That made her deeply doubt the promise of “a chance at life,” and she all but decided she was doomed.

Her only hope now was to satisfy the god’s demands and win its favor.

As for the price of falling into eldritch faith—and the harm it might do the world—she had no bandwidth left to care.

Yvette considered, then said, “Go back to where you’re staying. I’ll give you the rest of the instructions later.”

This trip to another world had been rushed, with no real plan. For now, she had nothing in particular she wanted done. If anything, she wanted intel on her “students,” and on this world’s four True Gods, the Demon God included.

She was interested in the gods here—and more curious still about the criteria for apotheosis, and what exactly a “Terrestrial Godrealm” was. Of course, she probably wouldn’t get that from a rank-and-file adventurer.

A few minutes later, back at the Old Oak Inn, warm light and a stew of voices washed over them—doing nothing to thaw the chill in Moga’s heart.

In the tavern on the first floor, she spotted Breton and his companions—the ones who’d invited her that morning.

Noticing her low spirits, Breton put two and two together, waved, and grinned. “Miss Half-elf, thank goodness you’re all right! I heard the first wave at the labyrinth got slammed by monsters. I was worried you’d run into trouble. Good thing I played it cautious and stuck to gathering intel today.”

Moga managed a nod. “I got lucky—”

Lucky, my foot! she fumed inwardly. I can hear you, you know, Yvette thought as well. She kept both to herself—no sense in spooking the girl.