He raised a hand to cut off Cavendish’s impending objection. “The story that follows flows perfectly if we assume you’re Yog-Sothoth—”
“Yog-Sothoth wanted to destroy the marriage contract, so They sought me out. But just as you couldn’t harm me, They couldn’t lay a hand on me either. So the only path left to shatter the contract was one…”
Time reversal. Rolling everything back to before the marriage contract was ever forged.
That explained why Ode had been safe and sound in GORCC’s base one moment, only to suddenly experience time turning backward.
It also explained why Cavendish—this supposed stranger—had shown up in the dead of night to kill him.
Ode narrowed his eyes. “I bet swallowing the Yog Contract and the Cthulhu Marriage Contract wasn’t part of your plan. When I did, the Tooth Fairy rushed to my ear and said They were ‘taking advantage of Yog-Sothoth’s attention being diverted by Yahweh to sneak in a message…’”
“I’m guessing that when the Colour Out of Space attacked me, you suddenly left the table. And when you came back, you claimed you had ‘encountered a bit of unresolved trouble.’ That trouble was Yahweh showing up at your door, wasn’t it?”
Cavendish’s attention always veered into the bizarre. “Aren’t you curious about what that ‘Tooth Fairy’ really is? Or the name ‘Yahweh’? I figured anyone hearing ‘Yahweh’ would be stunned—it’s God’s name in scripture, isn’t it? So what’s the connection between this Yahweh and—”
Ode shot to his feet, leaning over the back of the chair with one hand braced against it while the other snatched Cavendish’s impeccably straight tie. His nose nearly touched Cavendish’s as he growled through gritted teeth in a low voice. “I don’t give a damn about any God. I’ve never set foot in a church in my life. The one I’m talking about right now is you—”
“I’ll admit, you spun a fascinating tale. But don’t you find all those contradictions in it a little suspicious?” Cavendish tilted his chest into Ode’s pull, head angled back, the picture of composure. “For instance—why are you so certain Yog-Sothoth can’t harm you? Why not some other motive?”
“Like you said, if It couldn’t hurt you because of the marriage contract, then time rewound, contract erased—It ought to be able to claim your life anytime. I ought to be able to claim your life anytime. But I can’t.”
“…” Ode stalled for a few seconds. “There has to be a logical explanation in there somewhere. I just haven’t cracked it yet.”
Smiling, Cavendish plucked his now-wrinkled tie free from Ode’s grasp. “Maybe you can’t crack it because your core assumption is off-base. Time to tear it down and start over.”
“Besides,” he added as he smoothed the tie flat and lifted his gaze to meet Ode’s irritated stare with earnest sincerity, “suppose I really am Yog-Sothoth. Wouldn’t throwing my identity right in your face like this be… a tad reckless? Come on, Little Prince—cut it out with the dancing with snakes. The aviator would be heartbroken.”
“…………” Waves of goosebumps prickled down Ode’s arms. He stood there dumbfounded, unable to voice the retort burning on his tongue: Whose aviator dreams of killing the Little Prince all day? Are you the aviator or the snake?
Cavendish carried on as if nothing had happened. “What’s your next move? Study those carvings on the wooden boat?”
“…No.” Ode stared at Cavendish for a long moment, tamped down his frustration, and straightened up. He walked over to the boat, squatted beside it, pried loose a palm-sized plank that was already on the verge of crumbling, and tucked it into his pocket. “Everything else can wait. There’s only one thing that has to happen right now.”
“?” Cavendish arched a curious brow. “What’s that?”
Ode grinned, twisting around from his half crouch to fix Cavendish with a look. He rapped his knuckles on the boat plank. “Come here.”
“…” Cavendish held still for a beat before rising and stepping toward the sound. “I don’t care for that tone.”
“I do.” Ode savored the sight of the fastidious gentleman approaching so obediently, then grabbed his arm and yanked him down into a squat.
Caught off guard—or perhaps playing along—Cavendish failed to keep his balance. Momentum sent him toppling sideways, his hands shooting out to brace against the ground just in time. The move pinned Ode neatly beneath him.
Ode slid a hand up to Cavendish’s firm, lean waist. Even through the suit fabric, he could feel the muscles coiled tight underneath.
“…” Cavendish held the position for a moment. When Ode tugged up the hem of his jacket, he lowered his head slowly, as if drawn in by the temptation. “So this is the urgent business? Picking up where we left off in the onyx bathroom…”
“Gotcha.” Ode whipped the handgun from the small of Cavendish’s back—the very pistol he’d used to knock and threaten that previous night. With crisp efficiency, he flicked off the safety and chambered a round. Then he swung up one long leg sheathed in trousers and planted his knee against Cavendish’s chest, easing the man back with deliberate calm. “You’re a Yog-Sothoth cultist, right? So you know where Dagon’s Lair is?”
Why cut the grass and leave the roots, just to watch fresh weeds sprout come spring? Not on his watch.
Ode wasn’t exactly a paragon of virtue. He held grudges, nursed suspicions, and never let a killable enemy survive the night.
Two minutes later, in a certain undersea trench near the town.
“Vulgtmor……Y’ gotha vulgtmorr! l’ bug shugnah……Or’uh’enah shuggothh!” Dagon huddled on the seabed, its wounds mostly knit but several gashes still bubbling blood. Feeble and enraged, it let out a guttural bellow at the handful of surviving Deep Ones around it.
Ode lurked in a thicket of seagrass a dozen meters long, up above the trench. He hissed through his teeth as he finished scrawling the final stroke on his newly acquired handgun, then jabbed a finger into Cavendish’s side. ‘What’s It yelling?’
Cavendish let out a soundless sigh, apparently resigned to his role as errand boy. ‘It says it needs sacrifices. Go to the shore and drag some humans down.’
Ode nodded, his face screaming knew it, and snagged a bundle of seagrass. He looped it several times around Cavendish’s wrists. ‘Stay put like a good boy. No wandering.’
Cavendish: “…”
Without a glance at Cavendish’s mute expression, Ode kicked off through the currents and plunged into the trench below.
Meanwhile, beyond the lair.
Ahf’……Ahhhhhhhhhhhh！！！
Ode—who’d barely shown himself before sending the Deep Ones into frenzied shrieks—didn’t so much as blink. He raised his pistol, sighted down the barrel. The bullets ripped vacuum wakes through the seawater, detonating with muffled booms. He seemed utterly oblivious to how unwelcome he was… or maybe he was starting to relish the sheer panic that trailed in his wake.
Dagon heard the commotion from inside the lair and jerked its head up in a fury. “Ahf’——aaaaaaaaaaaaaah!!!”
It proved one thing: species might not share a language, but screams were universal enough.
Ode’s hail of bullets scoured the trench nearly dry. When the barrage finally ceased, the pent-up seawater slammed down from a hundred meters up like a collapsing sky, battering the already battered Dagon into stunned oblivion.
Gun in hand, Ode swam right up to Dagon, his face twisting in fresh revulsion at the thing’s barnacle-crusted, worm-tube-ridden ugliness.
But those blood holes were mending. Ode—who’d hoped to skip ingesting more monstrosities—let out a profound sigh. He slapped his own cheeks to steel himself, then hauled in a breath like a breaching whale!
The thunderclap boom reverberated through the depths, spawning a colossal vortex that began crumbling the trench walls.
Ode darted out ahead of the plummeting rock shelf overhead, gave his belly a pat—the one now sloshing with untold tons of seawater—and finally registered that overfull, food-choked bloat pressing up to his throat.
True to form, Cavendish waited patiently in place, tugging at the seagrass around his wrists. ‘Now what?’
‘Church.’ Ode latched onto Cavendish’s wrist and savagely ripped away the rest of the seagrass, towing him clear of the reeking waters.
Cavendish shook his head; from the shape of his mouth, it looked like he’d mouthed barbarian once more. But in the next instant, those powerful arms locked around Ode’s waist like iron bands. Light flared blindingly.
Ode squeezed his eyes shut on reflex. When he blinked them open, they stood crammed into a narrow, shadowy confessional. A meager patch of colored light spilled from the Christ stained-glass window set high in the wall overhead.
“Suit.” Ode panted lightly. “Ruined. I told you this fabric’s all show and no substance—”
“We’ll buy a new one.” Cavendish showed zero interest in shoving open the door behind him and leaving. He edged forward another half-step instead, trapping Ode against the wooden partition with his tall, sturdy frame. In a low murmur, he offered, “Need help drying off? Meeting the priest soaked to the skin wouldn’t be seemly.”
“Who said anything about meeting the priest?” Breathing steady now, Ode planted a hand on Cavendish’s chest. Even through the suit, he felt the swell of firm muscle there—and for a fleeting moment, envy stirred in him.
He’d always been built slight, no matter how much he ate. Regular meals, even desserts piled on—he’d never filled out past “skinny,” let alone hit “well-proportioned.”
This time, though, Cavendish didn’t budge. He dipped his head, cool skin grazing Ode’s cheek as his nose nuzzled closer. “I figured you swallowed another monster and got spooked. Afraid you’ll turn into one yourself. So here to confess in church, seek some absolution.”
Half his inner turmoil laid bare, Ode kept his face impassive and scoffed. “No confessions. What’s to confess? Turning monster or not, living or dying—it’s my call. No one gets a say. Not even God—mmph.”
Cavendish’s mouth crushed down suddenly, swallowing the rest of his words. There was a raw hunger in the kiss, at odds with the man himself or whatever lurked behind him, devouring every scrap of air and wetness from Ode’s lips.
Ode’s hand hovered for several seconds before settling on Cavendish’s back, pressing him closer.
When they broke apart at last, Cavendish pursued the trailing silver strand for another kiss—only for Ode to catch his chin and halt him.
“What do you think you’re doing? Hardly proper.” Ode’s tone was a soft rebuke. “Remember, I’m the spouse wedded by contract to the god you worship.”
“Do you care?” Cavendish shot back. “Do you actually give a damn about that thing?”
![Bunny is Delicate, But He’s Everyone’s Crush! [Infinite]](https://i3.wp.com/dobynovels.com/wp-content/uploads/2026/01/bunn.jpg?resize=151,215 "Bunny is Delicate, But He’s Everyone’s Crush! [Infinite]")
