Rising god
Chapter 62: Persistent question

Chapter 62: Persistent question

The air was thick with unease as the visitors who had just crossed the threshold of the ancient house found themselves inexplicably standing outside again. The transition was instantaneous, disorienting, as though the house itself had rejected them with a silent, unseen force.

"Huh?" one visitor stammered, blinking in confusion.

"What the..." another muttered, their voice trailing off as they scanned their surroundings.

The visitors, guards, and those still waiting in line stood frozen, their eyes wide with shock. This wasn’t how it worked. Visitors were supposed to emerge from the house of their own accord, shaken or enlightened by whatever was within.

The house expelling them was unheard of,

Rumble...

The ground trembled beneath their feet, a deep, guttural vibration emanating from the house itself. The crowd stumbled backward, their gasps mingling with the creak of wood and the groan of stone. Fear rippled through them like a cold wind.

"Move back!" barked one of the two entrant guards, his voice cutting through the growing panic. He and his partner positioned themselves protectively in front of the crowd, hands resting on the hilts of their weapons, eyes locked on the house.

The structure seemed alive, its walls pulsing with an eerie energy that set their nerves on edge.

Unbeknownst to those outside, the interior of the house was undergoing its own transformation.

...

Inside, Baines staggered as the world around him shifted.

One moment, he had angrily stabbed a book, and in the next, he was standing on the first floor.

The air became heavier, thick with the scent of dust and something metallic, like blood or rust. He tried to orient himself, to catalog the changes in his surroundings, but a new, more immediate threat assaulted his senses.

The spirits, ghosts, and mummies that had been relaxing around now turned their attention to him. Their presence was oppressive, their forms radiating a savage, otherworldly aura that pressed against his mind like a physical weight.

The spirits shimmered with a faint, silvery glow, their translucent bodies twisting in unnatural ways. The ghosts, darker and more malevolent, seemed to flicker in and out of existence, their eyes glowing with a hunger that chilled him to the bone. The mummies, wrapped in crimson bandages that pulsed faintly with an unnatural light, stood motionless but exuded a quiet menace.

"What happened?" Baines muttered, his brow furrowing. From the moment he’d entered this cursed house, he hadn’t been in control of the situation, and he hated it. The loss of control, the unpredictability. It gnawed at him, like a reminder of how far he’d come and how much he still had to prove.

The spirits didn’t give him time to dwell.

With a soundless rush, they dove toward him, their forms blurring into streaks of light. Baines reacted instinctively, gripping the sword gifted to him from Last Front in one hand and the demon blade in the other. The blades hummed with latent power as he swung them in a precise arc, aiming to cleave through the spirits.

But the spirits passed through his blades as if they were nothing more than air.

Baines’s eyes widened in shock as their icy forms slipped through his body, a cold so profound it burned. His muscles locked, his breath caught, and suddenly, he was no longer in the house.

He remembered this place at first glance. How many years had it been?

He was home.

The scene unfolded before him like a vivid dream, yet it was no dream; it was like a memory brought up.

His childhood home materialized around him, its familiar walls bathed in the golden light of a long-lost afternoon. There was his younger self, no more than five years old, running through the garden with a carefree laugh. His older brother chased him with a wooden toy sword, grinning mischievously. His sister practiced her swordplay nearby, her movements were graceful and precise. At the same time, their eldest brother sat cross-legged in the grass, surrounded by scraps of machinery he was tinkering with, his face alight with curiosity.

Baines’s chest tightened. He remembered this day. His father had been in his study, working as always, while his mother hummed in the kitchen, preparing a meal that filled the air with the comforting aroma of bread and spices.

It was a moment of peace, a snapshot of a life before everything had changed. He reached out, desperate to touch the memory, to hold onto it for just a moment longer.

But the scene shifted. The warmth of the garden gave way to a cold, gray dawn.

Armored figures marched toward their family estate, their polished plate gleaming under the weak sunlight. Baines’s father, tall and imposing, strode out to meet them, flanked by a handful of loyal guards. An arrogant man at the head of the army held up a letter, its wax seal glinting ominously. Words were exchanged, words Baines couldn’t hear now, just as he hadn’t heard them when he was younger.

The confrontation escalated quickly.

The army surrounded his father, their movements precise and ruthless. The guards fought valiantly but fell one by one, their blood staining the cobblestones. Without a choice, his father was restrained, his face a mask of defiance even as chains bound his wrists. Baines’s mother and siblings rushed out, their voices raised in protest, but the scene went black before he could see the outcome.

The darkness parted, and a new vision assaulted him.

A pool of blood spread across the ground, bodies lying motionless within it. His family.

Their faces were unmistakable, even in death: his father’s stern jaw, his mother’s gentle eyes, his siblings’ familiar features frozen in eternal stillness. The sight was a knife to his heart, not because it was real, but because it could be. The house was taunting him, forcing him to confront the question he’d avoided for years: What if he found his family dead after everything he’d done to save them?

Just like when the old man asked him, what would he do if he saw his family dead? And he still didn’t know what to say.

The scene remained, as if waiting for his answer.