A Certain Multiverse's Holy Right

Back in the luxurious cabin of the yacht, Roy sat down to inspect himself and contemplate the new authority he had gained from Pandora's ritual: "The Face of God."

In myth, Metatron was called the Face of God, said to be the only angel permitted to gaze upon Yahweh (God) directly. Mortals were forbidden to look upon the divine visage, lest they suffer ruin. Among all the angels, only Metatron was granted the honor of bearing witness to the supreme God's resplendent countenance.

The authority Roy gained was a direct embodiment of this concept.

"So, the strange weakness and curse I felt when I glimpsed Metatron's face on Ponza Island came from this power," Roy murmured as he leaned back in his ornate chair. Through the windows, he could see the yacht slicing swiftly across the sea, heading for mainland Italy.

"This world doesn't have the Cthulhu Mythos, but that's understandable. A mythology requires centuries to form, entangled with human history and cultural memory. The Cthulhu Mythos is only a hundred years old, born from a piece of literature. Even if it could one day produce Heretic Gods, it would take more centuries, and only if humanity still remembers it."

Roy leaned forward slightly, tapping his fingers thoughtfully. "But the Cthulhu Mythos concept applies here too. In its universe, mortals who see the Great Old Ones go mad, as their brains cannot comprehend such entities and get contaminated by them. The same logic applies to Yahweh: humans cannot fathom His greatness, and so to see His 'Face' is to invite ruin.

"From this perspective, there's little difference between eldritch horrors and other types of gods."

Roy thought back to the battle with Metatron. When the angel invoked this power, Roy had seen, through Metatron's face, a vision of something infinitely grand. The mere sight had inflicted a terrible curse, leaving him weakened and disoriented as though his very essence had been violated.

The Face of God authority allowed its wielder to invoke this same phenomenon: to make those who gazed upon them feel as if they were witnessing Yahweh Himself. The result? Disorientation, curse-induced weakness, or, for ordinary mortals, insanity or death.

It was, quite literally, a power to "stun" one's enemies to death using appearance of one's face.

"Even when killing the same deity, different Campione gain different authorities depending on their nature. Why did I receive The Face of God?" Roy wondered aloud.

He stroked his chin thoughtfully before joking to himself, "Could it be because I always complained about looking too average in my past life? Maybe this is the universe's way of compensating for my wish to have a face so handsome that it would 'kill.'"

The thought amused him, but he couldn't dismiss it outright.

Metatron had used two primary powers during their fight: The Face of God and an authority that allowed him to seize control of another's powers by inscribing them in a divine record. While the latter seemed impressive, Roy guessed it came with strict limitations.

"I already have The Holy Right," Roy mused. "It's versatile and powerful enough for combat, though its constraints are troublesome. I'm glad I didn't inherit that authority-stealing ability—it would've just added more headaches."

The Face of God, in contrast, felt simpler and more compatible. It was a supplementary power that enhanced his combat abilities without major restrictions.

Thankfully, the power was controllable, with both active and passive states. Otherwise, Roy mused, he might've needed to wear a mask constantly, only taking it off in combat to "stun" his opponents.

In its passive state, The Face of God granted Roy an aura of divine majesty. It made him seem inherently trustworthy, almost saintly, as if he were truly a messenger of God. This subtle, curse-like effect made it far easier to influence others.

When activated, however, the authority unleashed its full power, inflicting debilitating curses on those who looked upon his face. Roy could already envision its potential in battle: opponents, locked in the natural act of maintaining eye contact during a fight, would suddenly be overwhelmed by the power's effects, creating critical openings for him to exploit.

"Incredible," Roy murmured, a faint smile on his lips. "A perfectly balanced support ability, useful in both combat and everyday interactions."

Yet, as much as he appreciated the new authority, Roy's thoughts turned back to a lingering concern. He clenched his fist and muttered, "Still, I'd rather evolve The Holy Right. That's where my true strength lies. It evolving would perhaps bring a qualitative change in me."

Killing Metatron had not increased his overall divine power reserves or unlocked any deeper levels of power. He was the same as after his first god-slaying.

"If this is how Campione are, then no matter how many Heretic Gods I kill, my growth will only be superficial—gaining more powers, not greater strength. My true potential is capped."

The thought frustrated him. Having more abilities made a Campione more versatile in combat, but there was no qualitative improvement. This inherent limitation was a fundamental weakness.

Roy thought of Metatron and Michael. Despite their overlapping mythologies, slaying both had yielded no synergy, no breakthrough. So even if he killed other Heretic Gods, there would probably be no qualitative change either.

"You don't need to despair," came a calm voice from behind.

Roy turned to see a shimmering figure materialize in the air. It was Aiwass, the Holy Guardian Angel, with her long golden hair cascading down her back and a radiant halo crowning her head.

"I preserved Metatron's core," Aiwass explained, her tone tranquil. "Or as you call it, his essence."

"Metatron's essence?" Roy echoed, his eyes lighting up.

"Yes. The core components of Metatron and Michael are highly compatible. The likelihood of successfully merging them is extremely high. Once I complete my analysis of Pandora's ritual and modify it accordingly, we can use this new ritual to break through the limits of a Campione."

Aiwass's words made Roy's heart race with hope. "So you've been studying Pandora's Ritual of Usurpation this whole time?"

"Indeed. Witnessing it again has deepened my understanding. But know this, Roy: even with a perfected ritual, only the essence of gods similar to Michael will bring meaningful results. This is because he is the first god you killed, so you already have some of his properties and can only merge with parts(in the essence) similar to him. The closer their nature aligns, the greater the benefits you'll gain."

Roy nodded, a grin spreading across his face. "No wonder you're my Holy Guardian Angel, Aiwass. To think you could extract Metatron's essence like that."

Aiwass remained impassive. "I could only act because you killed Metatron and severed his connection to the physical world. His essence was naturally transitioning to a higher plane, beyond material reach."

"But," she added, her voice taking on a sterner edge, "there are limits to what I can do. I can only tamper with the ritual. But %$&&%%$%^&^.. so you need a comprehensive understanding of the magical principles involved."

Part of what Aiwass said became static noise meaning that was knowledge that Roy can't understand. He frowned slightly but quickly nodded in understanding.

"You mean to say that you can only modify the ritual but can't perform it. Therefore, you can only teach me the knowledge about the new ritual and I will have to do the ceremony myself. And that I must have enough of a knowledge base first to understand what you tell me?"

"That's right. Human words can convey little meaning if you don't understand something yourself. There are certain things that are difficult for me to explain to you without you experiencing them." Aiwass nodded slightly.

"So, I need to study more magic. Great. I guess the old saying's true: when you're not good-looking enough, you have to rely on your brains. If I'd studied this hard in my past life, I could've gotten into Tsinghua or Peking University."

With a wry chuckle, Roy reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, ornate ring—the relic he had taken from the ruins of Solomon's Temple.