CHAPTER 21 A WORLD WITHOUT GODS

The sun rises over Harmony Town, casting a golden glow over the quiet streets. The town looks peaceful, as if the horrors of the previous night had never happened. But the scars remain. The remnants of Bertha's cafe lie in ruins, reduced to ash and rubble. The townspeople gather around the wreckage, searching desperately for any sign of life. There is none. No bodies, no survivors. Just silence.

Or so it seemed.

A sharp gasp cuts through the stillness as one of the townsfolk spots something: a hand, partially buried in the dirt, fingers stiff and reaching out as if frozen in one last, desperate attempt to escape. Whispers ripple through the crowd as realization sets in. It is Bertha. The woman whose secret cruelty had haunted them all for decades. Her punishment had come not from the hands of men, but from something far darker. The hands of the underworld had claimed her, dragging her into the abyss for her sins.

One brave soul steps forward, hesitant, reaching out to grasp the lifeless hand. The moment their fingers touch it, the hand crumbles into dust, carried away by the wind. There is no doubt now: Bertha is gone, and there will be no return.

The people exchange uneasy glances. Murmurs rise, some in disbelief, others in reluctant acceptance. Had everything they witnessed last night truly happened? Or had it all been some terrible nightmare? But deep down, they all know the truth. The horror was real. And it had changed Harmony Town forever.

Voices begin to rise in argument. Some stand by Antonio Vela, insisting that he had always fought to protect the town. Others scoff at the idea, claiming he had only seized the opportunity to gain favor in the chaos. If he had truly cared for them, why had he been the first to flee when Bertha attacked?

Another voice speaks up, arguing that perhaps the old woman had only sought to rid the town of both the Benefactors and the Velas, that she had tried to help them in her own twisted way. But her use of dark forces had spiraled beyond her control. Someone immediately rebukes this, calling it the mindset of an extreme Purist, reminding everyone that it was this very trust in Purists that had nearly destroyed the town in a single night. Another voice shouts back that those who oppose them are nothing more than blind fools, brainwashed by the Benefactors' tyranny and racism.

The arguments intensify. Sides are taken—some in favor of Bertha and the Purists, others defending Antonio Vela and the Benefactors. But in their heated exchanges, they fail to see the truth staring them in the face.

Both were corrupt. Both had brought nothing but pain. And yet, Harmony Town remained trapped in its cycle of violence, doomed to repeat its mistakes. It would not be the hands of a single villain that destroyed them.

It would be their own.

CHAPTER 21

A WORLD WITHOUT GODS

In a meadow far from town, the morning sun casts upon Chía, Ofelia, and Licovi. The three women have walked through the night, fleeing any possible retaliation from the people of Harmony Town, who might wrongly blame them for the chaos. Tragically, the townsfolk will never know the truth—that these three fought valiantly to end the curse of La Patasola, a curse that Bertha had kept hidden for decades, concealing her own guilt.

Yet, there is no joy. No relief. Nothing to celebrate.

Licovi has lost everything. Not only her husband, Julio, but also Bertha, whom she had seen as a mother for so many years. And her home, Harmony Town, a place she can never return to. Not with Antonio Vela still in power. Not with the townspeople, who might just as easily turn against her.

She is an exile now. And the weight of that loss is unbearable.

Licovi invokes Milagros once more. For the first time in sixty years, the wraith regains the innocence and kindness that once defined her. But her fate is not a joyful one. After decades under her cruel sister's control, forced to kill as La Patasola, she now bears a new curse. Though her soul remains pure enough to escape the Underworld, the suffering she caused prevents her from ascending to heavens. She is condemned to wander as a wraith until the end of time.

Licovi returns Milagros' severed leg, offering it to her gently.

—You are free —she says —. I have no intention of controlling you as Mrs. Bertha did.

Milagros stares at her in shock — Even after everything… you don't hate me?

—It wasn't you who killed Julio —Licovi says softly —. It was Mrs. Bertha. And I… I forgive you.

As Licovi and Milagros speak, Ofelia turns to Chía.

—What will happen to her now? —asks Ofelia

Chía lowers her gaze —Her soul is innocent, but the pain she caused won't let her ascend. She will be trapped in this world, unable to move on.

Tears well in Ofelia's eyes —That's not fair… It's not fair at all.

Seeing Licovi's deep sorrow, Chía puts her hand on her shoulder and gently offers —You could come with us, Licovi.

Licovi shakes her head —Thank you, but no. Now that I'm on my own, I need to find my own path. I want to strengthen my skills as a shaman. Antonio Vela is still out there, and if he continues unchecked, he could turn the whole country into another Harmony Town.

Licovi glances at Milagros, who gazes longingly at the rising sun.

—Is it your first time seeing daylight in all these years? —Licovi asks gently.

Milagros nods, her voice is barely above a whisper —I was never summoned in daytime.

Despite her freedom, there is no peace in her expression. She remains lost, empty, and devastated. Licovi places a comforting hand on her shoulder.

—I meant what I said: I won't control you. But if you want… you can come with me —she kindly offers —Maybe along the way, we'll find a way for you to atone. Maybe we'll find a way for you to reach the heavens. Octavio is waiting for you there, isn't he?

Milagros' eyes widen, filling with tears. In an instant, she throws her arms around Licovi, sobbing.

—Thank you —she cries —Thank you for your kindness. I'm so sorry! so, so sorry for what I did to Julio!

Licovi embraces her in return, holding her tightly —It's okay, Milagros. I swear.

The women continue their journey until they reach a small café by the roadside. They sit in silence, eating their meals, none of them willing to bring up the past. But as Licovi takes a bite, she suddenly breaks down, her shoulders shaking with uncontrollable sobs.

—Why? —she cries —Why was Mrs. Bertha like that? If she was so evil, then why did she take in Julio and me when we were kids? Why didn't she just let us die with our parents?

Chía lowers her gaze, staring at her plate. She has no answer. The guilt weighs heavily on her. A single tear drips onto her food.

Ofelia reaches out, placing a hand on Licovi's —Maybe… Maybe Bertha did want to be good —she suggests gently —She kept her sister's photo. She gave you and Julio a home. She made you happy for so long. Maybe she truly wanted to move on. But the darkness in her… it was too much.

Licovi sniffles, and a small, fragile smile appears on her lips —Julio… —she whispers.

—He was the best thing in your life —Ofelia says —Hold onto that. As the memories that truly meant a lot for you.

They finish their meal and continue on for hours. At last, they reach a fork in the road. Licovi points to the path leading to Hunza —This is where we part ways —she says.

The girls say good bye and take their different paths, but, after a few steps, Chía turns back and calls Licovi once more.

—Hey, Licovi! —She shouts.

Licovi turns.

—Yes, Lady Chía?

—Do you have a place to stay? Do you have money?

—We'll manage —Licovi replies.

Chía pulls a small pouch from her pocket and tosses it to her —Take it.

Licovi frowns. —Huh? What is this?

—A gift from Bachué. This bag will always provide money, but only if you don't waste it.

—Wh-What?! N-No, I can't accept it! It's too much!

But both Chía and Ofelia don't pay attention and continue on their way, waving the girl good bye.

Licovi clutches the pouch. As Chía and Ofelia walk away, she whispers —Thank you.

As they stand at the crossroads, watching Chía and Ofelia disappear into the horizon, Licovi takes a deep breath, feeling the weight of her journey ahead. Milagros turns to her with curiosity.

—Where will we go now? —she asks.

Licovi looks ahead with determination settling in her gaze.

—I need to grow stronger. For myself. For you —she pauses, placing a gentle hand over her abdomen, a quiet, almost imperceptible gesture —For all of us.

Milagros watches her closely, understanding dawning upon her. A tender smile crosses her ethereal face as she steps closer, wrapping her arms around Licovi. She places her own hand over Licovi's abdomen, mirroring the gesture.

—For all of us —she echoes softly.

With the sun casting long shadows behind them, the two continue their journey, walking toward an uncertain future, together.

Later that night, in a distant town, within the most luxurious and expensive hotel, Antonio Vela prepares for a well-deserved rest. He thanks his two guards with that same gentle yet condescending tone, reminding them that their lives depend entirely on their ability to keep him safe.

The guards remain vigilant at their post while Antonio pours himself a drink, reflecting on the long day and the future ahead. In his own twisted way, he realizes he will miss Bertha. She had been his caretaker once. They had despised each other, yet something far more complicated had existed between them.

He finishes his drink and steps into the shower, letting the warm water wash away the dirt of the day. By the time he steps out, dressed for bed and ready to succumb to exhaustion, an unexpected sight stops him cold, making him, for the first time, quickly yell in horror.

A young man sits at the foot of his bed, attractive and relaxed, his smile warm yet chilling.

—Hey, Antonio! —the stranger greets jovially.

Antonio's breath catches in his throat, his voice barely a whisper as he utters the name:

—Goranchacha.

Antonio Vela remains frozen, his body stiff with terror.

Goranchacha lets out a lighthearted chuckle, as if reuniting with an old friend after years apart.

—Oh, come on, Antonio! Is that really how you greet a friend? Relax.

Antonio's scream had been loud enough to alert his guards, who now storm into the room, weapons drawn. But before they can even aim, Goranchacha, with a casual flicker of light, reduces them to nothing but a grotesque heap of flesh and viscera splattered across the floor.

Antonio gasps, the color draining from his face. His eyes lock onto the remains of his men, his mind caught between horror and sheer disbelief.

—Oh, damn! I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry! —Goranchacha exclaims, clutching his head with both hands —I didn't mean to! You see, chaotic magic is really hard to control!

With another flash of light, the piles of flesh, bones and organs twitch… then reform. The guards suddenly lurch back to life, gasping for air, drenched in cold sweat. Their bodies tremble as their minds catch up to what just happened. They remember the excruciating pain of being torn apart. The horror of ceasing to exist. And in that moment, nothing else matters—not loyalty, not duty. Just the raw, primal urge to survive. The guards run for their now-regained lives.

—Hey, hey, come back! I said I'm sorry! —Goranchacha calls after them, waving a hand dismissively. But his words do nothing. The men don't even spare a glance before bolting out of the room.

Goranchacha sighs, then shrugs with a carefree grin.

—Well, damn… Hehehe, I think I just scarred them for life. Oh well, no use crying over spilled blood, right? —He leans forward slightly, his gaze locking onto Antonio —Now, where were we?

Antonio remains paralyzed, his skin cold, his heartbeat a frantic drum in his chest. And in that moment, one terrifying truth settles deep into his bones.

Antonio takes a deep breath, smoothing his robe as he forces a smirk onto his lips. His body is still tense, but his voice comes out steady, dripping with the same false charm he's mastered over the years.

—To what do I owe the pleasure of this… unexpected and delightful visit?

Goranchacha grins, stretching his arms as if settling into a comfortable chair.

—Oh, I was just in Harmony Town, you know? Watching the aftermath of Bertha's little meltdown. Quite the show, by the way. And I must say, despite her… instability, everything went off without a hitch! —He claps his hands together, as if congratulating a star performer —Against all odds, and despite being so obviously evil, you managed to win over almost the entire town. Impressive! Some are even spreading rumors that you were the one who faced Bertha and defeated her yourself.

Antonio's smirk grows wider, his confidence returning. He casually pours himself a drink, swirling the liquid in his glass as he speaks.

—I simply did my job, that's all.

—Oh, absolutely! And what a fantastic job you did! —Goranchacha laughs, then leans in slightly. His golden eyes are gleaming—. Especially that little part where you didn't hesitate to get rid of the Benefactors' council and your own brothers. That was chef's kiss perfect.

Antonio takes a sip of his drink, then shrugs.

—Sometimes, you have to break a few eggs to make an omelet.

Goranchacha lets out a low whistle, shaking his head with an amused grin.

—Oh, my dear Antonio… You didn't break a few eggs. You set the entire damn farm on fire, slaughtered the chickens, poisoned the well, and then convinced the starving villagers that it was all part of a grand feast in their honor.

He chuckles, shaking his head as if in awe.

—And the best part? They believed you.

Antonio remains silent, his smirk fading into a look of quiet disdain as he watches Goranchacha. For a brief moment, he forgets his fear, looking at the entity before him not as a being of immense power, but as something lesser. A tool. A means to an end. Goranchacha, of course, notices, but he pretends not to.

With a lazy stretch, he rises from the chair and strolls over to the small table where Antonio's liquor rests. He hums to himself as he picks up a second glass, pouring a generous amount of the rich amber liquid.

—You know —he begins, swirling the drink in his hand—, I have to give credit where it's due. Bertha was something else, wasn't she?

He lifts the glass to his lips—but rather than drinking from it, he tilts his head back and drinks straight from the bottle instead, downing the entire thing in a single effortless gulp. He exhales with satisfaction, setting the empty bottle down before continuing.

—For someone who craved power, recognition… attention… she certainly knew how to keep herself hidden. Lurking under that sweet old lady act, unnoticed for decades! Even I almost missed her. If you hadn't suggested her as an ally, I might've never known she existed.

Antonio scoffs, but Goranchacha ignores him, his voice carrying an almost nostalgic admiration.

—And let's not forget how much character she had. Completely unhinged, sure, but never once did she falter. Not even at the end. No regret. No begging. Not even as she was dragged into the Underworld while still breathing.

Goranchacha chuckles, shaking his head.

—You and her, Antonio… you're a lot alike.

Antonio's lips curl in disgust, his expression betraying his distaste before he can school his features.

—Don't compare me to some peasant woman—he spits.

Before he can even process what's happening, Goranchacha is behind him. Two hands rest gently on his shoulders. Their grip is deceptively light.

Antonio stiffens, his breath catching in his throat. His heart hammers violently against his ribs.

Goranchacha laughs softly, his voice dropping to a near whisper.

—You're right, I apologize —he murmurs—. I wouldn't dare compare you two.

His fingers press down slightly, just enough for Antonio to feel the weight behind them.

—After all, you may share the same ruthlessness… the same cold-blooded determination… —he leans in, close enough that Antonio can feel his breath against his ear—, but at least Bertha was brave.

A pause.

—Not like you.

Antonio's body betrays him. Goranchacha doesn't need to see his face to know—he can feel the terror coursing through the man's veins. He grins.

—Oh? — he chuckles—. I can hear it, you know. The way your heart's racing right now…

Antonio swallows his pride, forcing himself to lower his head ever so slightly.

—I misspoke —he says, with strained voice—. Forgive me.

Goranchacha tilts his head. Then, just as suddenly as it had appeared, the pressure vanishes. He claps Antonio on the back, laughing heartily.

—Oh, come now! No hard feelings! —he grins, already making his way back to the bar, rummaging through the selection of bottles—. I'm just messing with you. We're partners, aren't we?

Antonio exhales subtly, regaining his composure. He watches as Goranchacha continues his search, now more focused on restocking his drink than tormenting him.

—So —Antonio finally speaks—, what's next?

—Hmm? —Goranchacha, now holding three different bottles, barely glances at him—. Oh, right, right. You, my friend, are heading to the capital.

Antonio crosses his arms.

—To do what, exactly?

Goranchacha chuckles as he uncorks a new bottle with his teeth.

—Why, to tell your heroic tale, of course! —he says, dramatically placing a hand over his heart—. To spread the word of what happened in Harmony Town, to share the tragedy, the sacrifice, the glory.

He takes a long swig before continuing.

—But more than that, you're going to take the Benefactors beyond their humble origins. You're going to turn them into something bigger. A movement.

Antonio raises an eyebrow.

—A movement?

Goranchacha's smile widens.

—A political movement.

Antonio stiffens at the implications, but Goranchacha doesn't stop.

—With your charm, your influence, you'll turn this whole country into a place where the old ways, the gods, are nothing but a memory. The Benefactors don't dwell in the past, Antonio. We certainly don't worship cold, indifferent deities who barely lift a finger for humanity.

He gestures vaguely with his bottle.

—You'll shape public opinion. Subtly, of course. A little scandal here, a little exposé there. A whisper of doubt, a question of loyalty. Soon, anyone still clinging to their gods will find themselves... unwelcome in polite society.

Antonio listens, his mind already weaving potential strategies. Goranchacha's voice lowers, his eyes gleaming.

—And the best part? —he leans in—. In a world without gods, people will need something to believe in. Someone to worship. And who better for that role… than those strong enough to take it?

A slow smirk creeps onto Antonio's face.

Goranchacha raises his bottle in a mock toast.

—We'll build a world, Antonio. A world of men, not gods.

Antonio raises his glass, his smirk widening.

—To the new world.

He expects Goranchacha to join him, to clink glasses and seal their pact in liquor. But the toast is met with silence, only to find that Goranchacha isn't paying him any attention at all.

With the remaining bottles tucked under his arm, Goranchacha is already making his way toward the door. He pauses, just before stepping out, and turns his head slightly.

—Oh, and Antonio?

Antonio tenses.

—Next time I kill someone by accident —Goranchacha says casually—, I won't bother reviving it.

Antonio's throat tightens. He swallows hard.

Goranchacha lets the silence linger for just a second longer, as if savoring the tension. Then, as if nothing happened, he flashes a grin.

—Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to go find those two guards. Poor guys, I really do feel bad for them. Maybe I'll share these fine bottles with them! You don't mind, do you?... Nah, you're cool.

And just like that, he strolls out, humming to himself, leaving Antonio alone in the dimly lit room.

Antonio exhales shakily, forcing himself into his chair. He lifts his glass again, but as he brings it to his lips, he notices something.

His hand is trembling.

The liquid inside the glass ripples. Antonio tightens his grip, scowling at himself. But no matter how hard he tries; he can't make it stop.

Days later, after a long journey, Chía and Ofelia arrive at a small hill where the cold is intense, and a light mist barely veils the landscape. Chía shivers, hugging herself as she complains about the freezing temperature.

—This must be a sign—we're close to Hunza.

Ofelia nods and points toward the horizon. Between the mountains, a colossal city emerges, its stone structures standing proudly against the morning sky.

Chía's eyes widen in awe. —I knew it was big, but… this is incredible.

—If you think this is impressive—Ofelia smirks—wait until you see the capital city. It's much larger.

Chía shakes off her astonishment. —No time to admire the view. We have work to do.

Her tone grows serious. In this city, they will face exactly what Bachué and Sugunsua warned them about: the possible arrival of Goranchacha. And for Ofelia, it is where she will finally uncover the fate of her missing parents.

—You're right—Ofelia sighs. —Come on, let's hurry before we freeze to death.

—Yeah, except…—Chía pauses —It's getting really hot all of a sudden.

Ofelia raises an eyebrow. —Maybe the sun is finally coming out.

Chía stares at her. —The sun? What time is it?

—Eight in the morning. Why?

Chía's expression turns grim. Slowly, she looks up. The sun is right above them. Directly overhead.

Her stomach sinks. —Oh, shi…!

She doesn't get to finish. A blazing force collides with her, sending her flying through the air in a burst of scorching flames.

—Lady Chía! —Ofelia cries out.

Chía groans, forcing herself to her feet. Her skin stings where the flames have hit her. And standing before her, a powerful, tanned man, and with hair as wild and intense as fire itself, is the source of the attack.

—Chía! —The man grins, fire dancing around his clenched fists —Finally, I've found you.

Chía narrows her eyes —Xué.

Ofelia gasps. —The sun god himself?!

Xué's smirk doesn't waver. —You've got some nerve, showing your face here like this. Did you really think you wouldn't have to deal with me?

Chía exhales sharply. —Still as loud and hot-headed as ever, huh?

Xué throws his head back and laughs. —And you're still mouthy! But I'll give you credit—you've lost your godly powers, and yet, here you are, standing tall. That's gutsy.

His eyes glint with excitement. —Tell you what, I'm feeling generous. I'll hold back so I don't completely overwhelm you. But make no mistake, Chía…—He cracks his knuckles, flames roaring to life around him. —You're in for a beating.

Chía clenches her fists, magic crackling around her fingers. She meets Xué's fiery gaze with one of pure defiance.

—Kiss my ass.

Xué's fierce expression wavers. His posture shifts to a calm one while his face blushes.

—W-Well… if you insist —he mutters, his voice suddenly goes shy, his intensity melts into something awkward and strangely suggestive.

—What? —Chía blinks.

—What? —Xué instantly recoils, flustered.

Then, just as quickly, he straightens up and forces his bravado back into place. Flames surge to life around him once more.

—Never mind! Doesn't matter! You're going down, right now! —shouts the sun god.

Chía exhales sharply and turns to Ofelia.

—Stay out of this.

Ofelia hesitates but nods, stepping back.

Chía's hands surge with aquatic energy, a brilliant blue aura forming around them. Xué's body crackles with scorching flames. Their gazes lock.

Then, in a flash of fire and water, the two forces collide.

The battle begins.

NEXT VOLUME: HUNZA —CITY OF COLD AND CURSES.