Multiverse: Deathstroke

Chapter 382: Ch.381 Greedy Past

"You're getting off-topic, Circe," Diana shook her head, tapping her forehead with her finger. "I came here to find out what this mark on my forehead really is. What exactly does Hecate want? She's your patron deity—you must know more."

Circe set down her wine bottle, sitting on a chair by the table, swirling the wine in her glass. Her gaze turned distant and melancholic.

"I wouldn't use the term 'patron deity.' My relationship with her is darker. Alright, I'll try to explain everything to you."

Circe raised her hands, gathering her magic. Purple light shone in the cave as she began to manifest her thoughts as images, allowing everyone to understand more intuitively.

"Long before the gods existed, Hecate was already walking the earth. She was the collective embodiment of humanity's macro-consciousness toward mysteries."

Su Ming looked like he was chatting idly with Arabella, but both were actually listening closely to Circe's story.

He was being cautious—he didn't fully trust Circe. Arabella felt the same way; after all, Circe's power came from Hecate, and openly seeking information here could easily lead to deception.

"I hate the term 'collective consciousness,'" Su Ming huffed. Things like that implied they couldn't just be cut down or killed.

Arabella mixed whiskey and red wine, seeking the right balance: "This is what many spellcasters seek—the origin, the collective consciousness."

"When the world formed, the good collectives remained, while the bad ones were locked beyond the Source Wall. But now, things have changed," Su Ming whispered to her, and she nodded slightly.

At the other end of the table, Circe continued to manipulate the light and shadows in her hands: "In ancient times, Hecate was an incredibly generous being. She shared her sorcerous flame with humanity, hoping they could use that boundless power to find happiness. But she didn't understand human nature..."

Diana nodded. Life on Themyscira had always been simple for her—eating, sleeping, training—but after joining human society, she found out that people were complicated beings.

"Their greed knew no bounds—they wanted more," Circe smiled bitterly at Diana. "Yes, they wanted more of the flames she shared with them. These ancient sorcerers became gods—they became Zeus, Ra, Nabu, Kukulkan. But then they found out Hecate still had a 'volcano.' Their greed was triggered—they fantasized about what kind of greatness they could achieve if they claimed the volcano for themselves."

"It seems that the power from the Silver City is a bit cleaner," Arabella whispered into Su Ming's ear, her breath tickling him.

Su Ming gave her a sidelong glance and saw her smirking. "God's power comes from Creation itself, which is the essence of the universe—it's His own power. But for some reason, He split Himself into multiple parts—God's Hand, God's Body, God's Wrath, God's Voice, and so on."

"I know God's Wrath—it's that green-caped 'Spectre.' God's Body is the physical form on the throne of the Silver City. But what is God's Voice?" Arabella asked, puzzled.

This time, Su Ming was the one smirking. "Don't know? You need to read more books."

"What happened next?" Diana pressed on.

"And then? Naturally, they failed." Circe shrugged, taking a sip of wine. "Back then, Hecate's power far surpassed that of all the gods combined. To her, they were just toys."

Diana frowned. If Hecate was truly that powerful, how could they possibly find her and figure out a solution?

Circe seemed unaware of Diana's concern as she continued her story: "Hecate realized having too much power would only provoke jealousy, so she split her power into five portions and hid them within five human girls. She would only reclaim the power when necessary, and the seal of that power is the mark on your forehead—the Witchmark."

"But I can't use any magic, nor can I seem to learn it," Diana said uncomfortably, touching her forehead. She couldn't feel any power—only pain.

"Most marked individuals go their entire lives without noticing it, let alone using the power within," Circe said dismissively. She understood the function of the mark well. "When the marked individuals pass on, Hecate will seek new candidates to place her mark upon. You all are like security guards outside a high-tech lab—watching over something precious. But what's inside isn't for your use."

"But when Stranglehold approached me, I felt a strong energy surging within me. It seemed to trigger a reaction from the Witchmark."

"That, I do not know. I've lived for thousands of years, but what happened in those stories is measured in tens of thousands," Circe shrugged, dismissing her magic, then gently placed her hand back on the table.

Su Ming analyzed the information at hand—he knew that Stranglehold represented the dark side of magic, and whenever it neared Diana, it activated the Witchmark. Hecate had been coveted by the gods in the past.

If he were in her shoes, he wouldn't easily forgive someone for plotting against him.

Could Hecate really be so magnanimous? Hard to say...

One of Hecate's three faces was an old woman's face. For gods with multiple aspects, appearances often revealed inner truths. The old woman, also called the Crone, didn't seem like someone who'd be generous.

Stranglehold was clearly coming for the thief—the thief being Hecate. Wouldn't Hecate then want to take back the power stored within the Witchmarks to combat her enemy?

With that in mind, Su Ming put down his knife and fork. "Circe, if Hecate wants to take her power back, what happens to those marked?"

Circe looked him over, as if trying to figure out why he seemed younger, but she answered his question anyway.

"According to ancient texts, if she reclaims the power within the marks, the bearers of the Witchmark will be consumed by the primal magic—it will burn through their souls. I suppose that means they'll die... Before that, though, Hecate will control them like puppets."

"Tch, so Diana's actually in a lot of danger right now."

"Exactly. If Diana encounters Hecate, she's at constant risk of being controlled or outright killed."

As soon as Circe said that, the room's atmosphere grew colder. Everyone felt the hairs on their necks stand up, as if the three-faced goddess were right behind them, breathing down their necks.

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