Chapter 181: The Seed of Betrayal

Akuma did not return to the temple the following day, nor did he seek out Reciprocal again. Instead, he remained within the territory he had claimed for himself, observing the changes that had begun taking place inside his divine essence while pretending that nothing unusual had happened.

At first, the effects were almost imperceptible. His thoughts remained his own, his memories were untouched, and the fragment had left no visible mark on his body, yet whenever he considered the Entity, an unfamiliar dissatisfaction rose within him.

It was not hatred. Hatred would have been easier to understand, something he could direct toward a particular action or grievance, but what he felt was closer to the realization that he had spent too long accepting a position beneath someone else.

The Reciprocal had offered him an agreement, and Akuma had accepted it because the arrangement served his interests. He would remain hidden, wait for the right moment, and betray the Entity when doing so became advantageous, but he had never considered how that decision might change the way he viewed everything around him.

Now, even the thought of waiting irritated him.

"How long am I supposed to remain in the shadows?" he murmured, looking at the empty expanse beyond his territory.

No answer came, but the sensation inside his divine essence stirred, almost as though it had recognized the question. Akuma closed his eyes and suppressed the feeling, unwilling to acknowledge how easily his own thoughts had begun circling around the promise of greater power.

He had accepted the fragment willingly. Whatever consequences followed, he could not pretend that someone had forced his hand.

Still, he wanted answers.

The next time Akuma entered the abandoned temple, Reciprocal was already waiting for him. The darkness surrounding the altar had grown thicker, stretching across the cracked floor like a pool without a bottom, and the air carried the same oppressive sensation that had accompanied their previous meetings.

"You have returned," Reciprocal observed.

"I want to know what that fragment actually did."

"Has something changed?"

"You tell me."

A faint ripple passed through the darkness, but Reciprocal offered no immediate explanation. Akuma took another step toward the altar, his expression hardening as he sensed that the presence was deliberately allowing his frustration to grow.

"Are you trying to influence me?"

"Would you listen if I said yes?"

"No."

"Then why ask a question when you have already decided what the answer must be?"

Akuma’s fingers tightened. He disliked the way Reciprocal turned every question back toward him, forcing him to examine his own intentions instead of providing the straightforward answers he demanded.

Yet beneath that irritation, another thought emerged.

If Reciprocal truly intended to manipulate him, then understanding the method would be more valuable than simply rejecting the offer. He could study the influence, learn its limitations, and perhaps turn it against the very being that had introduced it into his existence.

"What do you gain from helping me?" Akuma asked.

"An outcome worth witnessing."

"That explains nothing."

"It explains everything you need to know for now."

The response should have angered him, but instead, Akuma found himself staring at the darkness with renewed interest. Reciprocal did not appear concerned about whether he trusted it, nor did it demand that he obey its instructions, and that absence of pressure made the arrangement feel strangely different from the alliances he had encountered before.

There was no visible chain binding him to Reciprocal.

There was only the possibility of obtaining what he wanted.

"Suppose I betray the Entity," Akuma said. "What happens afterward?"

"That depends on what you accomplish before the betrayal."

"And if I succeed?"

"Then you will have created an opportunity for yourself."

Akuma lowered his gaze. He had imagined defeating the Entity before, although those thoughts had always ended when he confronted the enormous difference between their positions, but Reciprocal had made the possibility difficult to dismiss.

He could continue waiting for a favorable moment, remaining useful until the Entity no longer needed him. Alternatively, he could begin preparing for a future in which he would no longer need to accept another being’s judgment of his worth.

The second option appealed to him more than he wanted to admit.

"You’re suggesting that I should take something from it," Akuma said.

"I’m suggesting nothing. You are the one who keeps arriving at that conclusion."

The darkness shifted, and several faint points of light appeared above the altar. Each one pulsed with a different intensity before fading, leaving behind only the faintest traces of their former presence.

"Tell me, Akuma. If the Entity possesses the authority to shape worlds and influence civilizations, does that make every being beneath its influence insignificant?"

"No."

"Then why do you continue to measure your own worth by the position it has allowed you to occupy?"

Akuma fell silent.

The question touched something he had avoided examining for a long time. He had survived, accumulated power, and maintained his place among beings who would readily exploit weakness, yet the existence of the Entity had forced him to confront a ceiling he could neither break nor ignore.

Reciprocal had not created that frustration. It had simply given the frustration somewhere to lead.

"I don’t need you to teach me how to think," Akuma finally said.

"Of course not."

"Nor do I need your permission to betray the Entity."

"You never did."

The answer followed him long after the darkness receded. Akuma left the temple without another word, carrying no new fragment and receiving no additional promise, yet the conversation had accomplished something that a direct command could never have achieved.

He had begun to regard betrayal not as a single act he would perform when the opportunity arrived, but as a path he could prepare for in advance.

And preparation required more than patience.

It required understanding the Entity’s relationships, the forces that supported its authority, and the beings whose existence had become intertwined with its growing influence. If Akuma ever intended to strike successfully, he would need to identify something that mattered, something whose loss could not simply be dismissed.

He remembered Wias, one of the beings whose position within the Entity’s growing order made him a potential source of valuable information. Akuma had no personal grievance against him, and there was no reason to believe Wias suspected anything about their agreement, but that very absence of suspicion made him worth considering.

A thought formed, quiet and unpleasant.

What if the first step toward betraying the Entity was not to attack the Entity itself?

What if it was to remove something the Entity had come to rely upon?

Akuma stopped walking, his expression becoming unreadable as he considered the possibility. He had not made a decision, and he had not yet determined whether Wias possessed anything worth taking, but the thought had already crossed a boundary he could no longer pretend did not exist.

Deep within his divine essence, the unfamiliar influence stirred again.

This time, Akuma did not suppress it.

He allowed the thought to remain, examining it from every angle until its initial discomfort began to give way to cold calculation. Whether the impulse originated from Reciprocal’s gift or from his own ambition no longer seemed particularly important.

After all, he had agreed to betray the Entity long before receiving the fragment.

The difference was that he was beginning to understand what betrayal might actually require.

Akuma resumed walking, his destination still undecided, while the darkness behind his thoughts settled into a silence that felt almost comfortable.

He had not yet struck against the Entity, and no one had discovered his agreement with Reciprocal. For now, he remained exactly where he had promised to remain, hidden from view and waiting for the right opportunity.

But the next time that opportunity appeared, he might no longer be satisfied with simply taking it.

He might decide to create it himself.