Profane Ascendant-Chapter 58: Lucifer

Cyn felt his own voice echoing inside his head. He could hear it clearly—yet it did not leave his lips. Or perhaps it did leave them, but he had lost the ability to hear it. He could no longer distinguish which was which.

The only sound that truly reached him was that man's voice, resonating in his ears as if offering guidance and advice.

"Once you bring out your other self," the voice said calmly, "only then will you truly join us, Lord Sadist. I expect that moment to come soon. My only wish is that you make proper use of the mask—it adds a wonderful flair and serves as excellent promotion for us. So do your part. Hahaha."

Cyn was left stunned when he saw the man withdraw his hands, leaving him suspended there like a frozen sculpture. As if he were some sort of immobilized figure.

If one were to name his current posture, it would be The Fallen Princess Statue—a princess without a knight to catch her in his arms.

Cyn did not know whether gravity simply no longer applied to him, but he did not fall. He remained suspended, completely unable to move, hearing only the sound of footsteps retreating behind him.

Tap. Tap. Tap!

Sharp footsteps echoed. The man was leaving.

Yet his voice reached Cyn's ears once more, even though he was clearly far away—so close it felt as though he were whispering beside him.

"Oh, I almost forgot. Since you possess a scar, the mask will require charging with energy. But remember—only when you are in your other self, Lord Sadist. You wouldn't want to fail your promotional duties, would you? Unless, of course, you wish to be the least famous among the Nine."

He added casually, "By the way, take the Corridor of the Shore's Edge. You'll find an exit there. Use it."

Cyn did not understand half of what the man was saying, but the echo of the final footstep snapped him back to reality.

Tap.

"Gah—!"

Cyn collapsed onto the floor. Everything resumed functioning normally—the malfunction, the distortion, all of it corrected itself the moment that man left.

Even so, the voice echoed one last time in his ears, like a lingering ghost unwilling to leave him alone.

"One last thing—I nearly forgot the most important part. You cannot withstand sunlight. Don't walk under it too long. It will burn your skin… and reveal what lies beneath."

Cyn cursed aloud. "You damned bastard! Get out of my head!"

He struck his left ear instinctively—only to feel something there.

Touching it with his fingers, he realized it was an earring.

He could not tell its exact shape, but by touch alone it felt sharp, like a crescent moon—unfinished, incomplete.

There was something minuscule engraved on it, too small to discern. It felt like a series of tiny dots.

"Arrgh… pheww. As expected—it's impossible to remove. Haaah… what the hell is happening?"

Cyn was not someone carefree or indifferent, yet he let the matter rest for now despite not understanding anything. Still, he knew with certainty that nothing happened by coincidence. There were meanings behind all of this—and he had already grasped fragments of them.

He murmured to himself, "So… it's Lord Sadist."

"Yeah. It seems so."

A voice echoed inside his head—but it was not that man's voice. It was familiar.

It was the voice of the Scar of Pride.

Cyn did not argue. Nor did he ask for an explanation.

He lay back against the stone floor of the vast intersecting hall, unconcerned about someone finding him there—with two lifeless bodies behind him, given everything that had already happened.

He addressed the scar silently.

"There are many things I need to do."

The Scar of Pride responded immediately, listing them with suggestions.

"You need to become stronger. That much is certain."

Everything came down to strength.

"How?" Cyn asked.

The scar replied like an old master instructing an inexperienced disciple.

"You are still lacking in many aspects. Control. The scar energy you use is extremely thin and unstable. You have not even mastered Phase I yet. Phase II is not a game—it can easily backfire on you."

Cyn glanced around. He needed to leave.

He stood up, dragged the two bodies with him, and prepared to depart. Everything had returned to normal—the corridors were once again open, unlike what had happened earlier.

As he moved, Cyn questioned the scar.

"Aren't you the scar? Who else could teach me control better than you?"

The Scar of Pride replied, reminding him, "I already told you. The fundamental step is strengthening your Sympathetic bond with me. That cannot be achieved in a single step. Enhancing your perception of scar energy in its material state—when it flows out of your body—is part of that process. According to the Church's classification of incompetents, you are quite literally at the bottom."

Cyn paused. "Classification?"

The scar answered with an exhausted tone, as though tired of dealing with someone unwilling to educate himself.

"Oh? What can I say… I've already told you everything. The classification is a scale first used by the Church long ago to determine the danger level of scar bearers they dealt with."

It continued swiftly.

"Honestly, you are extremely fortunate. Times have changed. In the past, anyone with a scar would be hunted down—even if it was just a scar from a wound."

Cyn began to understand some of it, though he still wondered how they distinguished ordinary scars from true ones.

"If you had been born in that era while possessing me, you would be ten feet underground—assuming they bothered to bury you. Most were burned alive. Possessing a scar was equivalent to sentencing yourself to public execution."

"Times have changed. Scar possession has become commonplace—and even something that can be atoned for."

Cyn had never known these historical truths, but he was aware that the history between scar bearers and users of the Sacred Halo was drenched in blood.

The scar continued.

"Repeated actions generate pressure. Pressure leads to explosions. And that happened many times—resulting in countless mass graves. Scar bearers united for the first time to resist the Church's massacres."

"The Church interpreted this not as a struggle for survival, but as an external threat—an organized plot to overthrow it."

"What followed were rivers of blood. In time, suffering decreased, and so did the number of new scar bearers. In truth, this was his plan—The Blessed One."

"As long as suffering created new scar bearers, Lucifer, the Chosen One of that era, proposed ending the war with scar bearers—because that very war, that hatred, was what produced them."

"And it worked. Over thousands of years, their numbers declined drastically. Yet suffering itself could never be erased—the world was born from its womb."

"The scar bearers realized this… and began a war not only against the Church, but against each other—with one goal: to create more scar bearers."

The Scar of Pride fell silent.

Cyn felt as though he had just attended a history lesson as he walked through the corridor leading to the Shore's Edge.

He finally voiced the thought he had been unable to express earlier.

"Selfishness," he muttered. "That might be what caused Lucifer to fall into this world as well."

Cyn felt irritation rising within him, especially after hearing about Lucifer's method of ending the war between scar bearers and Sacred Halo users.

Then suddenly—a soft laugh escaped him.

The idea forming in his mind was worth asking about.

The Scar of Pride sensed his shift in emotion but did not understand it. 𝚏𝕣𝕖𝚎𝚠𝚎𝚋𝚗𝐨𝐯𝕖𝕝.𝕔𝐨𝕞

He had been rage-baited by Lucifer's plan.

Cyn began smiling, then laughing quietly.

Was he unhinged? Emotionally defective? Perhaps his mother had not hugged him enough as a child.

Still smiling, he asked the scar, "May I make a guess… about this Lucifer?"

As if entertained, the scar replied, "Go on."

Cyn's voice was calm, cold, refreshing.

"This Lucifer… was he a fallen angel?"

The scar had not expected this. The history it had revealed was knowledge few possessed—even within the Church itself.

Cyn continued, unchanging in tone.

"And this Lucifer… did he possess a scar?"

If the scar had a human face, it might have looked shocked—or laughed and mocked him.

Instead, silence answered him.

A silence so heavy that Cyn felt a shiver.

He knew it.

The scar was angry.

Cyn smiled—wide and satisfied.

"He got what he deserved," he whispered.

"Selfish whore."