Bookbound Bunny: Chapter 1 - 3

Blurb

"Books contain countless wonders."

Arakil, once a god of magic, found himself at odds with other deities. Imprisoned within his grimoire, he had to wait until the perfect person came along.

That person was a bunny girl named Lily. An orphan with a frail body that ruined her chances of being an adventurer. But, she had a talent for penmanship and a thirst for knowledge - the perfect foundation for a mage apprentice.

Seeing the opportunity to train a new pupil eager to improve their life, and sensing a chance to work towards his own freedom, Arakil teams up with Lily to foster her magical abilities.

Chapter 1 - Origins

Magic! The pinnacle of expressing oneself through knowledge and determination—or, at least, that is what it meant to Arakil. His passion for magic was said to be unrivaled, and he would stop at nothing to unravel its secrets.

Originally of humble origins, a peasant farmer's bookwormish son, Arakil, had started from the absolute bottom. But his passion early on soon spiraled into an obsession, and once he made a name for himself, little could deter his unwavering commitment to his endless hunger for more.

Arakil's thirst for knowledge was insatiable. Every aspect of magic, no matter how obscure or esoteric, fascinated him: Inscription, Evocation, Daoism, Eldritch, Daemonic, and more. Arakil was determined to study it all through direct experience or experimentation on others. In his relentless pursuit of knowledge, moral considerations soon became an afterthought.

That wasn't to say Arakil was evil, per se; there were no bloody sacrifices of virgin maidens or other diabolical activities. Certainly, nothing cartoonishly evil like baby eating. In fact, Arakil would sooner casually save someone, a doomed kingdom, or even a dying race; especially if there was magical knowledge to be gained. Casually killing a would-be Demon King and earning himself a lost scroll or grimoire was one of his favored and sought-after transactions.

When mortals failed to stop him, a minor deity tried to intervene and soon found himself broken down into magical reagents. This act elevated Arakil to a minor deity of magic, although he had already long transcended his mortality. Lichdom had been only the first step in his effort to endlessly prolong his life, as he truly sought to find and understand all magic. It was only when he started traversing between planes and dimensions that others truly began to take him seriously. He was like a ravenous, all-consuming void, which was oddly fitting when he cast a grand ritual to contain and store a black hole for his personal use.

Now, Arakil didn't fear death as he had numerous contingencies prepared for such an inevitability, and he believed his memory to be picture-perfect. However, one of his acquaintances who still talked to him commented offhand about consolidating all his knowledge into an eternal repository. Arakil had scoffed at the suggestion; he had a pocket dimension full to the brim with books and scrolls and could summon countless familiars or servants to find the item he wanted. But like a tiny seed, the idea nagged at him until it grew into something he simply had to do.

Arakil, never one to take things halfheartedly, embarked on a mission to create the ultimate grimoire. This was not just a project but a testament to his relentless pursuit of knowledge and progress. The grimoire had to be indestructible, endlessly expansive, convenient to add more information, and have a method for scanning through or organizing its contents. The infinitely expanding cosmos held most of his requirements, which is why his first target was a cosmic dragon. Able to withstand the void of space, exploding stars, and even escape the center of a black hole, it was truly a magnificent being.

Arakil stepped onto one of his teleportation sigils and warped to his desired location, a moon he had commandeered and carved into a giant runic matrix and thousands of interlinking spell forms, one of his most prized possessions. While cosmic dragons were masters of space and held unparalleled dominion over gravity, they had no sway over dimensions. He scryed for the nearest one within a comfortable range and observed it while he made his required preparations.

The cosmic dragon was a breathtaking sight to behold. Its scales shimmered with the radiant glow of distant stars, and its form seemed to shift and ripple like the fabric of space itself. The dragon's wings stretched out like swirling nebulae, and tiny points of light twinkled within its translucent, ethereal body. Its eyes blazed with the incandescent fury of a supernova, and its every movement left trails of stardust in its wake. This majestic being was a living embodiment of the boundless wonders of the universe, a being to be revered and feared in equal measure.

This is why Arakil gave it no opportunity to attack or perceive his intention. Any spectators expecting an honorable and epic duel against such a legendary creature would be horribly dismayed. He warped in with his moon and immediately set off countless triggered incantations and arcane forms, separating the dragon and its various vital organs into disconnected frozen-in-time pocket planes through unprecedented dimensional magic. A grand beast like this being snuffed out like a mere candle caused a ripple of disquiet among those who knew of it, but before any retaliations could be made, Arakil was already off to his next two destinations.

His next task would require sacrificing his spell moon, but he could readily make another with time. With precise finger movement, perfected eldritch utterances, and a generous heaping of cosmic dragon blood, he bastardized the dimensional runes of the entire moon into a makeshift array for gravity and containment. Defying reality itself, the new spells triggered and began compressing a dying star. Meanwhile, pocket portals opened, throwing countless priceless reagents into rapidly shrinking celestial flame. He sped up the process with a bit of chronomancy, and the final result was a sphere made out of an impossible material. He gave a somber salute to his once proud spell moon, now a husk of its former self with only a few remnants of faint glowing magical circles and formations.

He required one final ingredient for his creation, and thankfully, he knew where to get it in his exploration of dimensions and parallel worlds. With a homebound teleport, he returned to one of his many sanctuaries and headed toward one of his previously set-up gates. He swapped out the enchanted crystals in the formation for a specific combination and activated the archway. 

This parallel dimension was similar to most, with only one glaring difference; it was entirely miniaturized. He would store his target inside of the cosmic dragon's heart as a sort of pseudo-phylactery. What was this target worth sacrificing such an infinitely rare treasure? A small, mostly empty galaxy with a few planets that held resources he wanted, like a magnificent forest planet with some of the most beautiful wood he'd ever come across and would no doubt make the best paper imaginable.

He was pretty sure some voices were warning him to stop or perhaps demanding him to, but he ignored them. He was on a roll after all, and he had checked beforehand that the galaxy didn't contain any sentient life, or...was it sapient life that he was meant to check for? Oh well, it was too late now.

With his resources gathered, he spent the next endless hours preparing a grand ritual and even managed to incorporate the husk of his spell moon as a reagent to give it one final glorious sendoff. To make the grimoire indestructible, the compressed dying star became the base material, the miniaturized galaxy used for infinite expansion and paper, his black hole for devouring his collection of knowledge, and finally, the corpse of the cosmic dragon to hold it all together. 

Item creation wasn't his strongest hobby, and so he sacrificed countless dungeon cores appropriated to handle the messy details, as they came from a world with a so-called System that allowed one to achieve the impossible by overwhelming things with numbers.

An unknown time passed, and everything was ready before he started the grand—no, the supreme ritual. His work was immaculate, and he quadruple-checked for any oversights or errors. Formations synced up, the dungeon cores were sacrificed, and his blueprint and framework shone with the fury of a supernova. The end result? A massive grimoire lay on the floor with immeasurable resources poured into it. He gingerly picked it up and gave it a deep whiff.

"I love that new book smell."

He threw the book into the air and cast his disintegrate spell; the pale green beam struck the object and failed to find purchase. He cast dimensional severing, meteor, wish, unmake, flare, absolute zero, lightning bolt, countless other spells, and even a good old fireball. The book was unharmed. Summoning a mug of coffee, he purposefully threw its contents over the pages and watched as it failed to leave even a minor stain or soggy paper.

Extremely satisfied with its durability, he now needed to test its ability to store knowledge. He pulled out a copy of one of his favorite books and placed it on the rear of the book, where a golden spiral was interlayed in the cover. With a minor activation of his Mana, the book was swallowed whole, and he eagerly opened up the grimoire and found the work within perfectly replicated. Now, the book as a whole was indestructible, as was the knowledge contained within it; at least, that was Arakil's goal. 

However, what was a book without having access to scrap paper or replicable documentation? So, by exerting his intent upon the tome, he carefully tore out a page containing a spell circle. As soon as the page left the book, it was replaced by a fresh one containing the exact same contents. Once free from the ultimate grimoire, the loose page was effectively ordinary, yet extremely high quality, paper. He folded it into a paper airplane and tossed it off into the distance before burning it to cinders with a precision fireball spell.

He spent the next indeterminable amount of time absorbing all of his scrolls and books into the grimoire. He transferred knowledge he lacked in written form using mind crystals. He was pleasantly surprised when they were also compatible with the knowledge consumption aspect of his ultimate grimoire - he had anticipated it would work, but having a theory come to fruition is always a joy. 

His vaults of knowledge and libraries were now truly empty, and he stared happily at his likely ultimate creation. Indestructible, endlessly expanding, limitless paper, and containing his wealth of information. He had even built in an effect where he could shrink the large tome to an easily pocketable size,a side effect from incorporating the galaxy from the miniaturized parallel dimension. Truly, it was perfect... Except for one thing.

"Finding specific information I want is truly a nightmare. I need something or someone to be able to sift through this." Arakil said, scratching his chin with thought.

He had a few ideas on how to solve this, and luckily, he had considered this when making his preparations, leaving a suitable slot for a soul to be housed and incorporated with the grimoire. 

He had a few options: create an artificial spirit, perhaps awaken a magic item, or bind a familiar inside the tome. However, the idea that would likely give the best result would be to find and coerce a god or goddess of knowledge, learning, or wisdom in some realm, dimension, or parallel world into merging with his book. Surely, as one who had risen to a minor deity of knowledge would be privileged to be housed inside such a fine tome? Yes. That was the best option.

"Despite our numerous warnings and hopes, your unwavering pursuit ceases to end." A heavenly voice echoed throughout his chamber.

"Sara? Is that you?" Arakil asked.

"That's Saraiel to you." She demanded.

"Look. I'm awfully busy trying to finish my book. Can we talk about this some other time?" He replied, barely sparing her a glance.

"Such disrespect."

"Such disdain."

"He continues to mock us."

"His crimes are endless."

"He massacred a cosmic dragon!"

"He plundered a parallel dimension!"

"He's doomed countless worlds!"

Countless voices shouted other accusations at him, and he couldn't help but scratch his head. This certainly was a lot of deities showing up. Surely he didn't do anything worthy of this much attention this time?

"Look. If it makes you feel better, you can kill me, and we can get on with our lives." Arakil said nonchalantly.

"Ha! You speak as if we don't know about your backups."

"Or have killed you in the past already!"

"We might as well spit into the wind!"

Arakil clicked his tongue in annoyance. Usually, that worked to get people off his back for a while, and all it cost him was the inconvenience of losing a body, some time, and a cleaning bill.

"But now, we have a fitting punishment for you."

"Created by your own hands no less, what delicious irony!"

"Yes. Finally, karma shall be reaped."

Arakil frowned. Were they actually serious? He was ninety-nine percent sure he had made contingencies for almost any scenario, including capture and sealing. It was a pity he had sacrificed his spell moon; he would have loved to put some of these lowly deities in their place.

"Enough!" Saraiel's voice boomed, silencing the countless other voices. She was the goddess of judgment and had often butted heads with Arakil.

"Arakil! You shall be sealed within that grimoire for eternity for your crimes!" She decreed.

Heavenly chains began to wrap around him, fueled by her power and the lent might of the countless other deities present. Part of him wanted to resist, but he found the idea intriguing. What was a few years spent within his own glorious creation? He could even get a headstart on organizing the wealth of information before he found a suitable candidate. Hell, he could even add more of his knowledge directly into the book!

Arakil was confident that he could escape its confines; after all, it was like they were setting him up for the biggest cliche ever! A grimoire containing magical knowledge beyond understanding was so sought-after that he could easily fool the first sap into working for and freeing him. And if he was truly trapped, then his ultimate contingency would trigger. It was costly beyond measure, and truthfully, he worried about potentially being unable to replicate it again, which was why he had set its activation condition to be as strict as it was. 

As long as there was a sliver of a chance at escape, it would not activate.

Arakil's body began to lift off the ground as the chains pulled taut and brought him closer to the grimoire. He felt the links of metal piercing through his metaphysical body and reaching into the depths of his soul, tearing it asunder before interlinking with the book and its open, waiting grasp. He felt his soul leave his body, reality ceasing to exist for the briefest of moments before it came flooding back. He looked around the room, his vision at the moment limited to the singular eye that was on the front cover of the tome. The other deities snickered and cheered, thinking they had won.

One of them opened up a portal leading to the void of space, and he found his book-bound form being tossed through the portal. The last words he heard before the portal snapped shut were the deities already discussing how they would loot and distribute his various treasure troves. Arakil couldn't help but chuckle; he'd find all of them and claim it back with interest. 

It was good that he had limitless paper because he began making a lengthy list of those who had crossed him.

Chapter 2 - Bookbound

 As Arakil floated in the void of space, he had plenty of time to explore and contemplate his new form. That is after he finished reorganizing everything as he had originally set out to do.

He discovered that they hadn't done much besides sealing him within the grimoire and a small restriction on his available Mana tacked on almost as an afterthought. Perhaps they had thought Arakil had already set up severe restrictions for the book's future occupant, but other than a simple suggestion of "Do not kill your owner," there wasn't much. The singular exception was a strict compulsion to never destroy any of the knowledge or information contained within the book. Like a true hoarder, Arakil felt that willingly destroying any knowledge was a sin, no matter how insignificant.

After spending significant time compulsively organizing everything and doing a second revision, Arakil was finally ready to start on his situation. Since he could freely add his knowledge to the pages within, he planned to start setting up magic circles to handle various functions. The first was a simple telepathy spell, as he certainly lacked a means of communicating, and giving his beloved book a mouth felt far too eldritch for the current situation. Not to mention, getting rid of it later would not be worth the hassle.

It would have been a simple task, but he was again lost in his obsessive need to perfect it. That's not to say he inscribed it incorrectly or with mistakes, no, but it could be improved! So what would have been a simple telepathy spell soon had a translation spell attached, which was then enhanced to also translate feelings and intent for those rare species that didn't have a language or were more animalistic. 

He'd already gone above and beyond, yet he still sought to further it and added a Mana-gathering array, which again he tweaked beyond reason until it was in perfect equilibrium; not a single drop of Mana would be wasted in collection or usage.

Arakil always struggled to keep track of time, and now, without a body that occasionally partook in mortal delights, the fault was turned up to eleven. Which was why he hadn't even realized that someone had found him floating in space.

***

Amongst the flaming ruins of a once-advanced civilization lay a flawless book. Toxic fallout laid waste to the biological life on the tiny dwarf planet, and the undead walked the streets. Gazing down upon the book with disdain was a goddess dressed in golden battle armor, her full plate greave and boot placed firmly atop the book.

"Hear me out... I know it looks bad, but this isn't entirely my fault." Arakil said sheepishly.

"Barely two centuries have passed, and you've already destroyed a civilization!" Saraiel's voice dripped with fury, her anger palpable in the air.

"Hey! I didn't even cast any of the spells responsible for this. That was all on the space pirates!" Arakil tried to defend himself. "And I had absolutely nothing to do with the toxic fallout! Who in their right mind tries to use radiation against zombies!?"

"Yet who was it that gave them that information!?" Saraiel demanded.

"I mean... I am a book." Arakil countered.

"You willingly translated dangerous and evil magic for them..." Saraiel said, her patience rapidly running dry.

"Well, I figured a book of all magical knowledge should be universally readable. I simply tweaked my ultimate translation spell to also work for text."

"You corrected their mistakes..." Saraiel spat out, on the verge of cracking.

"Look... I can't handle sloppy workmanship; it insults everyone who uses Mana."

"Enough! Clearly, we need to be more stringent with your sentence." She declared, pressing the heel of her boot down harder. "A constraint on who can open you up will do perfectly, yes... Something like only those pure of heart will hopefully lead you down the right path."

"But-"

"Silence! It has been decided." She decreed.

Once again, the divine judgment settled upon Arakil. He felt the heavenly chains binding him tightly, and to make matters worse, they were interfering with his beautiful telepathy spell circle. Thankfully, it didn't break or dismantle the inscribed spell, but now he could only converse if his book was open!

He immediately began trying to make the corrections, but tragedy struck when it seemed that everything he had accomplished or planned to do was now restricted to his book being open. The sole anomaly was his sight, provided by the eye on the front cover. Since it was his only source of external stimuli, he started working on fixing it. There was no way he would settle for mere mundane sight! No, he would craft the most complex Magesight imaginable.

***

Demons were flooding into the celestial plane, the forces of good and evil waging bloody war right on the doorsteps of divinity. Blood-red portals ripped through the fabric of reality to allow the invading armies entry, and it was all orchestrated by a mighty Demon Lord who commanded his armies to slaughter the angels.

The giant Demon Lord stood imposingly in his flaming black armor, towering over all with his immense, muscular frame. His armor crackled with dark, fiery energy, emitting an eerie glow that consumed the very light around it. Jagged spikes adorned his shoulder pauldrons, and the intimidating horns of a demonic helm crowned his head. 

From beneath the shadows of his helmet, piercing eyes of molten crimson blazed with infernal fury, exuding a sense of malevolence so palpable that it sent shivers down the spines of all who dared to meet his gaze. With every step, the ground trembled beneath his immense weight, and the air seemed to ripple with the intense heat emanating from his dark, imposing form. In his right arm, he grasped a massive Zweihander with pale green flames radiating off the blade and countless enchanted runes across its blade and hilt. He held an open grimoire in his left hand, its endless pages fluttering with immense arcane energy.

While the opposing troops clashed, the Demon Lord began targeting the angelic generals and lesser deities trying to command the troops. Things were looking grim for the forces of light when a golden archway of divinity emerged. Flying out at top speed was a familiar woman in golden armor, angelic wings, and a halo burning with righteous fury. She immediately clashed with the Demon Lord, wielding a massive golden hammer brimming with divinity and the flames of judgment. Arakil always teased her by saying that it looked like a giant gavel. It took her only a mere moment to recognize the book held by the Demon Lord, and a look of shock appeared on her face.

"Arakil! How have you escaped your bindings!?" Saraiel demanded.

"What do you mean? Your handiwork is still in place; I've done no such thing." Arakil said with a sigh, at once again being blamed.

"You're consorting with a Demon Lord! How is he pure of heart?!"

"His heart is pure!" Arakil countered, expecting the obvious rebuttal. "Sure, it's pure evil. But, in fairness, you didn't exactly specify..."

"It. Was. Implied!" Saraiel shouted through grunts and gritted teeth as she continued to fight against the demon lord.

"No, no. Words are important in these kinds of things. I even tried to warn you about being so loosey-goosey with the phrasing."

"D-don't lecture me!" She shouted, outraged. "Regardless, you should have never consorted with a Demon Lord! That was one of your few remaining principles; you had slain countless of them in the past!"

The Demon Lord looked taken aback by such a declaration and briefly turned his gaze towards the book in his grasp, almost as if saying, "Really?"

"Hey man, no offense, but I was offered some really good spells to remove some of your predecessors. Besides, we have a deal, and you've added plenty of new spells to my book. I keep my promises."

Oddly, the Demon Lord looked relieved at that declaration, while Saraiel looked outraged. Six more angelic wings burst from her back, and her halo sprouted into a complex divine magic circle nearly encompassing the sky.

Damn it, looks like her divine privilege got authorized early. What rotten timing. Arakil cursed to himself.

The Demon Lord drew magic from the tome and his minions, his size swelling to unprecedented heights, and he brought his Zweihander down like a collapsing skyscraper directed towards the goddess. The pale green flames on the blade erupted as if bringing the end-times, an apocalypse in its own right, but Saraiel showed no concern as she thrust her arm outwards with a singular swiping motion. A golden, transcendent light erupted from her and banished the Demon Lord in its entirety; an explosion of radiant light began erupting from every Demon soldier, and like a cleansing wave, the evil corruption was removed from the divine gates.

The grimoire fell to the ground, bouncing a few times and shrinking to its original size before landing open with its pages facing the surface. Again, Saraiel strode over and harshly pressed her boot against the book's spine.

"Well, shit," Arakil said grumpily.

"Pure of heart, with goodness and righteousness!" She decreed, interrupting him before he could talk. She then kicked the book, which flipped through the air a few times before being sealed shut with chains again and falling through another portal.

Arakil sighed. Saraiel must have been extremely upset with him, unwilling to exchange a few words before banishing him again. At least he got a lot of new spells and knowledge to now organize from the now-deceased Demon Lord.

***

Children and nuns cowered under the wooden pews, huddled together, praying for safety while quietly sobbing. The doors to the main cathedral were barred and sealed for their safety, yet the consistent sound of battle could be heard outside, a constant reminder of their dire situation. 

Meanwhile, the Saintess of Purity was outside the cathedral, striding along the walkways and defending it from the invaders' twisted, shadowy forms. Despite being a Saintess, a chosen goddess and, in theory, having the highest position available, her attire was relatively unadorned, closely resembling a nun's dress with perhaps a few extra embroideries. She weaved her hands fluidly and cast off a spell that lanced through one of the shadowy invaders. Her graceful form was awe-inspiring as she wasted no movement between each new spell, and her long golden hair flowed like a gentle stream.

To any onlookers, this was a baffling sight to behold. One of the goddess's main tenets was peace, and their order was strictly pacifist and focused only on the art of healing. Yet here was the icon of their order casually slaying monsters and defending the last bastion of their order. To those of not mortal origin, they would have noticed that the Saintess had already moved on from this world. Lodged into her left breast and pierced through her heart was an unblemished grimoire.

Onwards, she marched, magical energy rippling from her form as she weaved from spell to spell, vanquishing the endless swarms of invading darkness. Finally, she found the source of their invasion, a dark rift hidden from prying eyes in a shadowy recess. With more fluid gestures, she began her work of sealing it. 

She began attempting to make secondary gestures interlace with the primary ones to cast a divination scry to locate the origin, but something seemed amiss as she frowned deeply. She gave up on the secondary gestures and instead alternated with a different spell form and proceeded with verbal casting instead. When the reality crack was mended and the source found, she shook her head and looked at her hands with disgruntlement.

"I would like to say these hands are too meaty for my use, but unfortunately, I think I've just grown rusty after nearly an eon of inactivity." She said disheartedly. "Or perhaps it's been longer... I've undoubtedly lost track of time during my periods of sealed slumber."

A familiar golden archway appeared, and Saraiel stepped forth. Unlike previously, she wasn't emblazoned with the flames of judgment and instead looked somewhat confused.

"Why was my presence called for..." Saraiel said with a tinge of exhaustion.

"Greetings, Saraiel." The Saintess said, doing a small curtsy.

Saraiel blinked a few times as she stared at the peculiar sight; she was about to return the polite greeting when her eyes widened in shock. "Arakil!?"

"Aww. I had hoped it would have taken you longer to realize it was me." Arakil replied, putting on an almost bratty pout with the Saintess' commandeered body.

"No... You corrupted a Saintess? Of Purity no less!?" Saraiel cried out in outrage.

"I'm honestly getting tired of being blamed for everything..." Arakil replied through the Saintess, shaking her head and waving her hand dismissively. "No. She sought my aid when her people were being slaughtered, but her tenets were too strict, and she couldn't make use of any of my teachings herself. In the end, she begged me for some way to save them and sacrificed her body to give me a vessel to use."

Saraiel actually seemed taken aback by that, and since judgment was her domain, she could sense the truth of his words.

"I apologize for the false accusation." She said, actually giving a tiny bow of respect. "Strange that shadow fiends would attack followers of Purity, though..."

"It wasn't them. Well, not directly, anyway. They were lured here." Arakil replied with a frown.

"Lured? By who?" Saraiel asked curiously.

"The Cult of Pestilence."

"That's a bold accusation to make. I presume you have some evidence?"

The Saintess' head nodded.

"Very well. If you'll come with me, perhaps we can reach some form of compromise regarding your situation. Maybe we can also try to get an investigation authorized," Saraiel offered diplomatically.

"No." Arakil immediately rejected, a grim yet determined expression on the Saintess' face.

"No?" Saraiel said, a tiny flame of anger igniting at being so stubbornly refused.

"You heard me. No. I made a promise, and I intend to keep it. As long as the Cult of Pestilence still breathes, it remains unfulfilled, and I'm a man of my word." Arakil replied, determined.

"You cannot just interfere in mortal lives like that! There are rules to be followed!" Saraiel angrily protested.

"For you, maybe. But last I checked, I was stripped of my minor deity title." Arakil replied with a smirk.

Saraiel's golden armor immediately materialized on her. "You cannot. I won't allow it."

A bark of laughter erupted from the Saintess' mouth. "I'd like to see you try without your divine privilege!"

Rage burned in her eyes at the insult, and her hammer materialized in golden flames. She moved to charge when a complex magical circle emanated beneath the Saintess' feet. 

Saraiel was shocked. Had she been played? When did Arakil have the time to establish such a complex formation and hide it from her sight? She found her body suddenly frozen in place as if time had simply ceased on everything except her head. Even with Arakil's knowledge, this seemed far too much for the mortal body he occupied to produce.

"Have you truly gone mad? You had a genuine chance at redemption, and now you throw it all away!" Saraiel screamed.

"She had such immense talent and a genuine desire for knowledge. And I was forced to snuff her out before the fiends claimed her." Arakil said, staring at the Saintess' hands. "I will keep my promise and ensure her people get to see another day. They need saving now, unhindered by the uncaring timeline of your godly politics."

Saraiel tried to protest, but a portal tore apart reality, and the Saintess walked through it. A look of grim determination uncharacteristically plastered on such an innocent face.

Saraiel cursed until she finally was free from the magical prison. Unfortunately, Arakil was right; she could not match him at present, as he had seemingly regained tremendous amounts of his former power. To stop him, she would need to pursue access to her divine privilege, and unless he did something extremely drastic, that was a lengthy process.

Chapter 3 - Trapped

 Screams of "Kill her!" ran throughout the underground temple as robed figures burst into flames. The entire temple was in chaos as the Saintess of Purity herself had come out in retaliation. The heads of the cult could not understand how their plot had been discovered, as they were sure they had executed the plan flawlessly.

Ignoring how their plot was uncovered, most couldn't understand how the plan had failed and how the Saintess was permitted to retaliate. The doctrine of Purity was impossibly strict: to never directly cause harm and to heal anyone and everyone. This was a truly foolish notion, as some of their followers would literally try to heal an enemy that had previously tried to kill them.

Yet here was Purity's chosen Saintess, killing countless of their members without a shred of mercy. How was she not stripped of her goddess's support for straying so far? None of it made sense. Pleadings and offerings were made to Pestilence for aid, but their master remained eerily silent. Many had tried to escape the compound, but as if a line of death was drawn in the ground, they would simply drop dead upon crossing a certain point.

"It's just one girl! Even if she is a Saintess!" Someone tried to rally support, and a small group was formed to stop her.

Their spells of plague and scourge were cast, soaring through the air before sputtering out like a candle in the wind. Deadly potion concoctions of poison and disease were tossed like bombs but shattered against a briefly flaring magical barrier before their noxious fumes were scattered back toward their owner. The cultists screamed in agony and rage as their own strength was turned against them, although somewhere in the shadows, someone giggled as if this was what they were waiting for.

The dead and plagued bodies began to twist and morph, merging together into a cacophony of puss and rot. Some of the more devout cultists recognized this and, as if following a script, pulled out a vial from their belt and hastily drank it, falling to the ground and soon joining the dead as a writhing mass of flesh.

The Saintess shook her head in disapproval. "What is up with cults and ritualistic sacrifice? Because of them, everyone immediately assumes the worst whenever someone mentions using a ritual."

Perhaps mistaking her words as fear, the cultists began mocking and taunting.

"Let's see how the Saintess stands up to a Corrupted Champion!"

"Pestilence shall spread!" They chanted.

Mentally, Arakil sighed, letting the so-called ritual go on. It would save him the effort of hunting down some of their elites, who willingly gathered themselves into this debacle.

The ritual reached its crescendo, ending in an overly dramatic explosion of magic. Arakil scoffed at such a wasteful production; it wasn't caused by a display of power, but rather, it was closer to a mistake, as the ritual was improperly constructed and had built up plenty of excess and spoiled Mana.

At the center of the explosion was a hulking giant of rotting flesh and disease. Looking more like an obese and bloated zombie than a so-called Champion. In its grasp was a large scythelike axe made from what looked like bones covered in decayed flesh.

"For Lord Pestilence!" The monstrosity bellowed, sending spittle flying.

"Seriously? You're bringing an axe to a magic fight?" Arakil chuckled and casually tossed a fireball spell towards it.

The fireball struck against one of its legs and detonated, blasting it into bits that incinerated midair. However, the hulking monstrosity didn't fall or collapse; instead, a sinewy new chunk of flesh appeared almost instantly to replace the leg. It gurgled a laugh that sounded like a frog choking, certainly pleased at its rapid regeneration.

"I can't wait to cleanse the world of your filth..." Arakil said tauntingly, as he kept burning away limbs.

He had to be careful not to kill it too quickly, as he was still preparing and waiting for his guest to arrive. After blowing up both its legs, Arakil ran towards where some of the other cultists were hiding and dealt with them. The cultists were more than happy to scream and beg for their lord to aid them; more decided to try imbibing their potion and joining as offerings towards the growing, fetid monstrosity.

Eventually, something changed. The monstrosity's movements became more precise, and the explosions of flame were no longer destroying its legs entirely. There was almost a dreadful hum in the air, and its form began mutating and shifting.

'Showtime...' Arakil thought to himself, lobbing a rather weakened fireball that was more firework than deadly spell.

"Is this the best Purity can offer? What a joke... Maybe I should thank you for culling the weak members of my cult and granting me a champion to exert my will." The monstrosity said.

This was a partial possession and technically still fell within the rules of divinity. Pestilence was speaking through his champion and, at the same time, giving it some pretty hefty buffs. Arakil was waiting for this moment and, with an impressive finger snap, activated the spell formation. The ring of dead cultists that had tried to escape began to glow as their bodies liquified and began settling down into a complex series of sigils and glyphs in a language long dead to the world.

"What? I feel... Stronger?" Pestilence asked curiously through the mouth of his champion. Then, an abrupt look of shock appeared on the form. "Wait, I shouldn't be able to feel anything? What is going on!?"

Arakil began clapping. "Welcome to the mortal plane, Pestilence. I hope you'll enjoy your stay for the brief moments you have left."

"What? Who are you? A mere Saintess shouldn't be able to do such things!" Pestilence demanded.

"Arakil. Lesser deity of magic... Well, former."

"Never heard of you. But you're truly a fool to bring me here and issue a challenge, especially in my temple! A former lesser deity, what a joke!" Pestilence mocked. "I guess I'll take this opportunity to wipe out the rest of Purity's flock, so thanks for that!"

"While I'd love to trade verbal barbs with you or educate you on matters of the arcane, unfortunately, I'm on a bit of a time limit before Saraiel comes to ruin my fun."

"You dare?! I'll turn you into a festering petri dish of plagues!" Pestilence shouted in outrage.

Arakil wasted no time casting his next spell, taking a shortcut by combining gestures on one hand with some rapid airborne sigils drawn with his other. Finally, he uttered a single word as the final catalyst for the spell.

"Stop."

And for a moment, time ceased.

Arakil, unfortunately, wasn't joking or setting up some witty time pun when he said he was short on time. Ever since he awoke from his slumber this time, he noticed something seemed a little wrong with the universe. Mana was abundant in vast and near-endless quantities in his time, and you were only limited by your magical strength to seize and wield it. But now... What Mana was once thick as paint had degraded to a starchy soup.

Originally, Arakil was worried he wouldn't be able to cast any of his truly powerful spells, but where the ambient Mana was lacking, his now host more than made up for it. Honestly, her body, in terms of its Mana capacity, likely outdid his own, as shameful as that was to admit. Had something fundamentally changed? An individual's Mana often wildly differed, especially between different species and races, but other than getting a headstart, it usually never mattered in the long run. It sounded far too outrageous of a concept; Mana was eternal, so why was it now so diminished?

Without any prying eyes, he quickly made a small portal to one of his secret vaults and was grateful to find it unmolested, despite the great passage of time. He pulled out two objects, a spear so heavily enchanted in runes that there was almost no available space that wasn't inscribed or glowing with magical power, and an elixir containing a glowing, golden-red liquid. He closed the portal quickly and, before his spell ended, threw the spear with all his might... Which wasn't much, but thankfully, the magic took over and guided it toward its target.

Time resumed.

Pestilence trapped within his champion barreled forward, and the spear struck true. He blinked confusedly as if it had materialized out of nowhere. It started to burn, and he reached out to pull it out, but it refused to budge. He roared in rage as suddenly the markings seemed to be transferring from the spear onto his body. He collapsed forward, struggling to breathe.

"Wha-" He tried to utter before the runes finished transferring and flashed with a pale purple light. He was gone.

***

"So why do we have to just watch this happen? Surely this is cause for intervention?"

"Well... Pestilence is the one who started this whole debacle, trying to go through a loophole to weaken Purity. Saraiel is trying to get authorization, but Arakil is technically in the right until he directly attacks Pestilence."

"What I don't understand is why we can't simply kill him. Even if he has endless clones or phylacteries to keep renewing himself."

"While it certainly is plausible, it was deemed not worth the time or effort."

"And the number of incidents has greatly diminished since his imprisonment. What, only three in the last epoch?"

"Indeed, it sounds acceptable to me. If we increase the restrictions slightly, we might bring that number down even further."

"But. Why not just kill him?"

"Well, he was a former deity of magic."

"Lesser. Hardly worth keeping around."

"Of Magic. Do you even realize what that means as a universal constant? Calling him a lesser with such a powerful domain is insultingly petty, and now, with Pestilence no doubt dead, it would only be increased further."

"Even sealing him away has caused some degradation."

"What? Can't someone else usurp the domain?"

"Well..."

"Yeah..."

"Nobody is really entirely sure how he even gained dominion over it. Imagine trying to claim dominion over Gravity?"

"Can't be done."

"Impossible."

"Alright, fine. So we can't kill him. So we reinforce the seal?"

"Indeed. I believe we are consulting the experts."

"Wonderful."

"Speaking of which, we must set some restrictions when Pestilence inevitably falls. We might have a decade of no plagues or diseases until a replacement is manifested."

"Indeed... Some population control will need to be encouraged. Perhaps lowering birth rates?"

"Fertility won't like that. What about causing a war or something? I'm sure Strife would approve."

"At the cost of upsetting-"

Abruptly, everyone went silent. Pestilence was no more.

"I hope he only had one of those..."

***

Arakil was poking the rapidly dissolving spear. Unfortunately, nothing would be reclaimable, and it was a cost he was unlikely to recoup anytime soon. But at least it felt good. Now he could say he'd killed two asshole gods!

Arakil turned around, sensing a spatial distortion, and spotted a young girl, looking no older than six and wearing an undecorated pure white nun dress.

"Purity, I presume?"

The girl smiled. "How'd you guess?"

"Well, I don't think a cult of festering disease would be keeping a small lost child," Arakil said with a chuckle. "I'm assuming children are the ultimate representation of pureness. Hence, you have that appearance?"

"Unfortunately." She giggled. "I wanted to thank you for saving my followers before..."

"Before Saraiel judges me... She should get a hobby."

Purity giggled at the comment before quickly putting her hand in front of her mouth and blushing. Saraiel was a bit of a hardass, but she deserved respect for her authority.

"Whatever happened to Rot? He seemed nice as far as plague and illness gods go." Arakil asked curiously.

"Pardon the unintended pun, but he rotted away..." Purity answered.

"Well, that was his dream... A shame, though; he was a nice guy." Arakil said with a shrug. "As for your followers, I don't mind. Your Saintess here is very friendly, kept me company, and even put some wonderful new spells into my collection."

"Yes... She was." Purity said, looking a little somber.

"It's a pity her hands were so tied. You should honestly add a self-defense clause to your tenets or something." Arakil pointed out. "Also, what do you mean, was? She's right here."

"Please don't tease me, Arakil." Purity said with a frown.

Arakil opened his mouth to respond when he sensed another spatial distortion. A golden rift apparated, and Saraiel had arrived. Her halo of judgment was already burning bright, and she was armed to the teeth.

"Well. Shit. Guess we've run out of time..." Arakil sighed and looked at the hands of the body he was occupying, giving the fingers a wiggle. "I'm going to miss having hands again..."

"Arakil! You shall be judged!" Saraiel decreed.

"She needs a better catchphrase," Arakil said as he popped the stopper on the golden elixir and drank it in a single fluid motion. "Hope you're good at catching despite your size, Purity."

Purity was blinking in confusion as Arakil tore his grimoire out of the body of the Saintess and tossed the book directly at Saraiel. Purity expected blood and gore, but instead, there was nothing, and before her eyes, she saw the gaping wound vanishing. The Saintess' body began to collapse like a puppet with its strings cut, and the small body of Purity rushed over to grab it.

"A phoenix blood elixir? But why?" Purity questioned.

Arakil's book tumbled across the ground before coming to an unceremonious end at the boot of Saraiel.

"Tell her thanks for the knowledge!" Arakil shouted moments before Saraiel slammed the book shut.

Saraiel began grumbling to herself before pointing her weapon at Purity.

"Purity! You better leave the mortal plane before you become a violation. I'd hate to be forced to judge someone on the path of righteousness." Saraiel declared as she walked back through her golden rift.

Purity blinked in confusion, and then the body of the Saintess began to stir.

***

Arakil was a little confused as to why he wasn't floating through space as he normally did. Instead, Saraiel was transporting him somewhere. He could only loosely observe what was happening while his book was closed. He was placed on a table surrounded by other individuals he didn't recognize. Likely other deities of justice or punishment. Or perhaps balance? Arakil hated those deities the most, always straddling the line between good and evil, order and chaos.

"You went too far this time," Saraiel spoke.

Arakil wanted to roll his eyes. Nobody would miss Pestilence. He only hoped the next manifested deity would be someone with a less hostile attitude. Others started entering the room of differing races.

Devils and fairies? Arakil thought confusedly.

They were all sharply dressed, and suddenly, Arakil felt alarm bells ringing in his head.

Oh no... No, no, no... Arakil thought with horror.

"Good, the lawyers have arrived," Saraiel smirked.

If there was one thing Arakil hated, it was lawyers. He suddenly regretted maybe not taking things seriously enough if they were even bringing other races into this. Dealing with devil lawyers was bad enough, but fairies?

"Right. We've drafted a proposal on how best to reinforce this binding seal as strictly as possible." One of the devils said with a sadistic grin, and everyone in the room began nodding.

Devils were known for making inescapable contracts and were the best in the business if you wanted a deal or condition to last. Arakil chuckled a little, as the propositions they were reading aloud were so strict that, he thought, they would easily trigger his contingency.

"And these are the conditions we will add without technically counting it as inescapable." One of the fairies added.

If books could sweat Arakil would be drenched in panic and worry. He also suddenly deeply regretted not putting a self-destruct button in his book. Damnable fairies were the masters of loopholes, and now that they had joined forces with the devils, this situation was starting to look very bad rapidly.

Note to self: I will apologize deeply to Saraiel when I get out of this. I'd hate to see how she escalates after this. Arakil thought grimly.

"Hmm... I worry that this might still be too strict." One of the other unnamed deities pointed out, and Arakil wished he had hands to strangle the man.

"Yes. That's why we will be using Fate magic," one of the fairy lawyers said with a giggle.

Arakil was so outraged that his book actually violently trembled on the table. He would have spat blood at the outrage like one of those cultivator sect masters. The onlookers noticed it, and all eyes stared at the book.

"Ignore him. Continue." Saraiel ordered.

"Well, if we use some Fate magic to constantly prod him at the slimmest chance of hope, the lowest of lowest probabilities, it should be enough to allow these restrictions." The fairy continued, and the rest of the lawyer cabal nodded in agreement.

Of all the convoluted bullshit! Arakil screeched to himself.

Arakil was filled with rage; he loathed that form of magic. Arakil was never a lucky man and always had to make his own, so magic that relied on Fate, Luck, or even randomness was particularly effective against him. He would escape, as in the infinity of time; even the lowest of probabilities eventually becomes an eventual guarantee, but how much time would he lose? An epoch? Eons? Would he even have a chance to stand up for himself anymore? It certainly wasn't looking good.