Freya and Loki made their way through the streets of Orario and entered the Demeter Familia's home beneath the astonished gazes of countless adventurers.
The two walked side by side.
One wore white, her silver hair gleaming, cold and noble.
The other wore a dark formal dress, sharp-eyed and composed.
Neither spoke. Each was lost in her own thoughts, their footsteps echoing across the stone road in a strange, steady rhythm.
Demeter stood in the courtyard. When she saw them approaching, she inclined her head slightly.
"Lady Freya, Lady Loki. Please follow me."
She wasted no words and immediately turned to lead the way.
Freya and Loki followed her through a flower-filled corridor, around an old oak tree, and toward a separate building.
It stood in a secluded corner of the Demeter Familia's grounds, a place rarely visited.
Ivy covered the walls. Wooden boards sealed the windows, and only a single iron door had been left slightly ajar.
Demeter pushed it open and stepped aside.
"She's inside."
Freya and Loki entered.
The room was dim.
Only a few magic-stone lamps glowed weakly from the corners, bathing the entire space in a murky yellow light that made the atmosphere even more oppressive.
The air was damp and stale, mixed with a sharper, fouler odor.
The smell of human waste.
The smell of despair.
Then they saw the cage.
It had been crudely welded together from iron bars, but it was sturdy enough to make escape seem impossible.
Inside, Ishtar was curled up in a corner, hugging her knees as her body trembled.
There was nothing covering her body. She had only dust, bruises, and wounds, while the tattered clothing she had once worn had been tossed carelessly to one side.
Her disheveled hair hung over half her face.
Yet the hatred and defiance in her violet eyes were still burning.
Dried blood stained the corner of her mouth. Dirt was packed beneath her fingernails.
She looked like a stray dog abandoned at the side of the road.
Miserable.
Filthy.
Pathetic.
The corner of Freya's lips lifted into a faint smile.
It was subtle, but the satisfaction behind it was genuine.
Not cruelty.
Not merely pleasure at another's misfortune.
It was the deep satisfaction of finally seeing an old rival brought low.
"Seeing you like this truly makes me happy, Ishtar."
Her voice was soft, yet every person in the room heard it clearly.
The instant Ishtar heard that voice, her entire body jolted.
She raised her head, disbelief filling her violet eyes.
Then she saw her.
Freya stood outside the cage, silver hair glowing softly beneath the dim yellow light.
Her white dress was spotless.
There was no expression on her exquisite face, but her gray-blue eyes held a trace of mockery, a hint of pity, and something else that looked very much like satisfaction.
Ishtar's mind went blank.
She would rather die.
She would rather be devoured by a God Assassin.
She would rather be imprisoned in darkness forever.
Anything would have been preferable to letting Freya see her like this.
This was the woman she had hated for countless years.
The woman she had always wanted to surpass, yet could never reach.
The rival she had dreamed countless times of crushing beneath her feet.
And now Freya was standing above her, looking down at her like a captured stray dog.
"Freya..."
Ishtar's voice was hoarse and trembling.
"Why are you here? Who brought you here?"
"Get out!"
"Get the hell out!"
Her screams echoed through the cramped room, shrill and piercing, filled with hysterical madness.
Her body shook violently.
Her fingers gripped the iron bars so hard that her knuckles turned white.
Veins bulged across her forehead, and her violet eyes were streaked with blood.
She looked like a wild beast trapped inside a cage.
Furious.
Desperate.
With nowhere left to run.
Freya watched her with the faintest curve to her lips.
There was a condescending contempt in her eyes, as though she were looking at nothing more than a piece of trash.
"How pitiful, Ishtar."
Her voice was soft, but every word drove into Ishtar like a knife.
"Locked in a cage like a stray dog, naked and covered in filth."
"You don't even have the most basic shred of dignity left."
"Freya!"
Ishtar's scream sounded like the howl of a vengeful ghost rising from hell.
She thrust an arm between the iron bars, desperate to grab Freya.
She wanted to seize her throat.
She wanted to tear apart that arrogant face looking down on her.
But the gaps between the bars were too narrow.
She could only force half her arm through, nowhere near enough to even brush the edge of Freya's dress.
All she could do was claw uselessly at the air like a rabid dog straining against a chain.
Freya ignored her.
She turned toward Demeter, who was standing by the doorway.
"So what happens next?"
"Do you want me to personally send Ishtar back to Heaven?"
Her voice remained soft, but the question was genuine.
Freya had no objection to doing it herself.
To her, Ishtar was little more than an irritating fly. Swatting her out of existence would mean nothing.
But Ishtar belonged to Genichi now.
She was his captive.
Freya needed to know what he intended to do with her.
Demeter looked at her and frowned slightly.
"If you want to do it yourself, that's fine."
"But according to Genichi, he intends to starve Ishtar to death."
The corners of both Loki's and Freya's mouths twitched.
Starve her?
Actually starve her to death?
For a moment, a strange silence settled over the room.
The two goddesses exchanged a glance and saw the same complicated emotion in each other's eyes.
That boy really was ruthless.
Starving someone to death wouldn't take a day or two.
It wouldn't even take a week.
It could take months, perhaps even longer.
Throughout that time, Ishtar would grow thinner each day.
Weaker each day.
Closer to death each day.
That kind of despair.
That kind of waiting.
That kind of torment...
"I'll do it."
Loki sighed and stepped forward, resolve flashing in her narrow eyes.
"Letting Ishtar slowly starve to death won't do Genichi any favors."
"He already has enough enemies. He doesn't need a reputation for torturing gods to death on top of everything else."
"Ishtar deserves to die, sure."
"But how she dies matters too."
Her voice was calm.
She wasn't being softhearted.
Nor did she feel any sympathy for Ishtar.
She was thinking from Genichi's perspective.
That boy still needed to establish himself in Orario.
He still needed to deal with the Guild.
He still needed to cooperate with other gods.
If he killed Ishtar in such a cruel manner, then even with Ishtar clearly being the one at fault, some would still call him vicious.
Cold-blooded.
Someone willing to use any means necessary.
That wasn't a reputation he needed to carry.
Freya looked at Loki in silence for a moment before nodding.
"Then I'll leave it to you."
Loki walked toward the cage and crouched in front of it.
She looked at Ishtar through the iron bars.
There was no hatred in her eyes.
No anger.
Only a calm, almost detached scrutiny.
She studied Ishtar's twisted expression, her bloodshot eyes, and the arm still clawing uselessly through the bars.
Complicated emotions stirred inside her.
"Ishtar."
Loki spoke softly, but every word was perfectly clear.
"It's over."
Ishtar's body jerked.
She stared at Loki in disbelief.
She had thought Loki had come merely to watch.
To kick her while she was down.
She had never expected Loki to be the one who came to end her life.
Not starvation.
Not torture.
But a comparatively dignified, swift end.
"You..."
"What are you going to do?"
"Loki..."
Ishtar's voice trembled.
Loki stared at her without pity or sympathy.
There was only a calm, almost cold resolve in her eyes.
"This is what you deserve."
(End of Chapter)
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