The black-haired man sat upon his throne, his piercing eyes scanning the room as he awaited an update from his trusted subordinate. The throne itself was not a thing of beauty, nor a masterful work of craftsmanship that had been handed down through generations of rulers; it was a very, very bare wooden throne.

However, it did not look plebeian. Just with the black haired man sitting upon it, its regalness seemed to have been enhanced. It seemed like minimalism was a stylistic choice rather than a choice of necessity. And it was; the black haired man was not someone who lacked jewels and gold.

The black haired man's attention, however, was not on the throne nor the lackluster black walls of the grand hall. His mind, as usual, was focused on the mission at hand - a mission he’d been trying to get to success in for nearly a decade.

"How has the infiltration of the royal palace come along so far?" he asked, his voice firm and commanding.

The air was thick with tension as his subordinate bowed deeply. The weight of the situation hung heavily in the air, a palpable sense of unease permeating the atmosphere. All eyes were on the old, scarred man as he delivered his report, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Your Grace," he began, "I regret to inform you that there has been no progress. The inner layer of the dome is tightly sealed, and they're killing anyone new at sight, no matter if they may be our members or innocent civilians."

The black haired man licked his lower lip in a gesture of both anticipation and frustration, his eyes dark and brooding as he muttered to himself. "My royal father," he murmured, his voice laced with contempt. "How long does he think he can survive, relying on being an apostle of Aqua?"

The black haired man's piercing gaze was fixed on his subordinate, who stood frozen in front of him. The silence in the room was palpable, as if time had frozen still, waiting for the black haired man's next move.

But before the black haired man could utter another word, a sudden flash of light caught his attention, and his attention was drawn to a blue screen that appeared out of nowhere, enveloping his entire field of vision. The man's eyes widened in surprise, and for a moment, he forgot all about his royal father.

He turned to his subordinate, who was still rooted to the spot, and barked an order in a voice that brooked no argument.

"Leave. Empty this room."

The subordinate complied without hesitating even for a split second. He bowed deeply once more as soon as he stood up before leaving the room in a rather dignified manner. The black haired man dismissed the blue screen before watching the man leave, leaning his chin on his hand.

It was only after he made sure the man completely left did he shut the grand hall’s doors with his mana. Then, for the sake of soothing his paranoia, he scanned the room with his mana another five times to make sure no one was still present. It was only then that did he begin reading the blue screen’s contents.

Cradle has requested a task from you. Will you accept?

The man smiled lightly, which seemed to light up his already handsome face, and replied, “Without a doubt.”

The Gods’ Anger

The representative of the Time God has killed one of your five siblings, the Forest King. It is said he is well on the way of becoming a proper apostle of the Time God, and maybe even a demigod that will inherit the Time God’s power. He already has the power to recursively turn time, trying scenarios again and again until he succeeds.

Your task is to stop him. Trap him in a loop of death. Do not let him progress. Once he quits, or you manage to consume his soul, this task shall be considered to be completed.

If you manage to consume his soul, not only will you get any and all extra abilities he has, you will also be granted an extra eight percent of Origin’s .

You will become the eleventh demigod.

You shall officially be granted the title you've always wanted, Demise.

You will be granted the right to cross heaven’s gates.

Good luck.

Demise stared at the translucent blue screen silently for a few seconds after which his smile turned crooked. “So that was what the whole explosion was about. And I was very skeptical when my subordinate delivered the information.” He then sighed lightly. “The Forest King was killed even before I could kill him, and my virus was triggered in the Core… this apostle seems very active, doesn’t he?”

Demise rose from his throne with a flourish. The smile that had graced his lips only moments before slowly faded into a look of plain determination. It was a rare sight to see the man nicknamed the ‘harbinger of death’ move with such purpose.

As he stood, his dark golden robes billowed around him, casting an eerie shadow across the room. The air around him grew colder, as if the very atmosphere was bowing to his will. His piercing eyes narrowed as he smiled once more, his smile mocking and cold.

This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

"How lovely," he spoke, his voice a deep rumble that seemed to echo throughout the chamber. "Just the task I need to finally cross fifteen percent."

Without hesitation, he raised his hand and clicked his fingers, a simple gesture that felt like it held immense power. In an instant, five masked figures appeared before him, their forms shrouded in darkness.

Each of the figures wore a different mask, adorned with intricate designs and symbols. The first figure, with their mask of gleaming silver, commanded attention with their sharp angles and edges that seemed to catch the light with every movement. It was as if the mask itself was made of liquid metal, molded to fit the contours of the wearer's face perfectly. The intricate designs etched into the silver surface added to the air of mystery that surrounded the figure.

The second figure, with their mask of deep crimson, exuded a sense of power and passion. The swirling patterns seemed to dance across the surface of the mask, as if they were alive and pulsating with energy. It was impossible to look away from the mesmerizing display, and those who did would find themselves drawn back to the figure as if by some invisible force.

The third figure, with their mask of pure white, stood out from the others with its simplicity and clean lines. It was a mask that seemed to convey a sense of purity and innocence, and yet, there was an underlying strength to it. The wearer seemed to embody these qualities, radiating a sense of calm and control.

The fourth figure, with their mask of jet black, was a stark contrast to the others. The jagged edges and twisted shapes of the mask gave it a menacing appearance, and it was clear that this figure was not to be trifled with. It was as if the mask itself was a warning to those who dared to cross the figure's path.

And finally, the fifth figure, with their mask of vibrant green, was a sight to behold. The swirling vines and leaves seemed to extend out from the mask, as if they were reaching out to embrace the world around them. It was a mask that seemed to embody life and growth, and it was impossible not to feel a sense of vitality and energy emanating from the figure.

With a calm and pleasant smile, Demise addressed the masked figures, his voice soft and smooth like the rustle of silk.

"I have a task for you five to do.”

*

The four most powerful figures of Owrigin were gathered around a large wooden table, deep in discussion. The atmosphere in the room was tense, and none of them showed their usual regalness.

The king, who was usually dressed in the finest silks and adorned with precious jewels, had discarded his usual garb and was now clad in simple robes. The queen, who was known for her impeccable sense of style, had abandoned her elegant gowns and was now wearing a plain linen dress. Even the two royal children, who were usually dressed in the finest clothes, looked like beggars with how haphazardly they were dressed.

However, even despite their outward appearance, it was clear that these were not ordinary individuals. Naturally, nor was the contents of their conversation.

“He mobilized the entirety of Destrata? W- Why?” The prince muttered nervously, his handsome face creased with concern.

The princess sat across from the prince, her heart pounding with fear and anticipation. Her delicate features were etched with worry, and her eyes flicked nervously to the door as if expecting an assassin to burst in at any moment.

She was a vision of beauty even with her currently mediocre dressing style. Her golden hair cascaded down her back in tumbling waves just like her brother’s, and her blue eyes seemed to have a unique twinkle to them. But in this moment, her usually regal poise was shattered, and she looked every bit the frightened young woman that she was.

The prince leaned forward, his muscular arms tensed, and his piercing blue eyes locked on the princess's. He could feel her fear like a physical weight in the air between them, and he longed to reassure her, to tell her that everything would be alright. But he couldn't, not yet. He had to be sure of what was happening before he could offer any comfort.

The princess's voice was a whisper, barely audible over the pounding of their hearts. "Is it...to kill us?" she asked, her eyes darting around the room as if searching for a hidden danger. "To infiltrate the Inner Dome-"

“Silence!” The king ordered, interjecting the princess’s words.

An oppressive silence followed the king's order as he regarded the pair before him with a mixture of disappointment and anger. His deep-set eyes glinted with a fierce intensity as he spoke, his voice low and dangerous, like a lion's growl.

"Truly," he said, his words dripping with scorn, "are you of my blood? Why are you afraid of such minute matters? That bastard," he spat the word out like a curse, his teeth gritted in fury, "does this regularly."

The king's question hung in the air like a thick fog, suffocating the room with its weight. It was a damning indictment, and the prince and princess knew it. They shifted uncomfortably under his penetrating gaze, feeling the heat of his wrath like a physical presence in the room. They knew that if not for their blonde hair and blue eyes that matched the king’s perfectly, he truly might believe they were not of his blood.

For a moment, no one spoke. The silence was absolute, broken only by the sound of the king's labored breathing. He was a towering figure, his broad shoulders and muscular build a testament to his strength and power. But even he knew that there were some battles that couldn't be won with brute force alone, so he calmed down and turned towards the queen.

The queen's eyes, as blue as the sapphires only found in the depths of Ikria, gleamed in the flickering candlelight as she nodded at her husband's words. Her delicate fingers traced the intricate patterns of the table's edge, as she stared at the young man at the very edge of the table to speak.

The young man, dressed in simple woolen clothes, knelt at the very end of the table, his head bowed in reverence. It was anyone’s guess if the reverence he showed was true or false, though.

"Demise does pull such maneuvers commonly, milords," he began, his voice trembling slightly. His fear felt almost artificial, though. "However, what is uncommon is the intensity with which he has mobilized them. Even when hunting down the fifth Elemental King, the Forest King, only the very inner strata of Destrata were mobilized."

The air hung thick with tension as the subordinate spoke, his voice barely above a whisper. His eyes remained downcast, fixed on the floor as if he dared not meet the gaze of the ones naturally superior to him. Despite his deference, the gravity of his words could not be ignored.

The man's pause hung heavy in the air, a palpable weight that seemed to suffocate the room. The queen's eyes were fixed on him, unblinking and unwavering. She knew that whatever he had to say, it was of utmost importance.

Finally, the man spoke, his voice low and hesitant. It was clear that the words he was about to utter weighed heavily on him, and he was struggling to find the courage to continue.

The queen nodded once more, a regal gesture that urged him to speak. She was not one to shy away from increasing the morale of her subordinates; she knew the value her gestures had very well.

The man took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "This time, however," he began, his voice barely above a whisper, "the entirety of Destrata has been mobilized. All the way from the footsoldiers to the spies to the sleeper cells… not a single one has been left to their motions."