-----Chapter 7: The Weight of the Universe's Decree-----
The Universe's Decree was absolute. It was not a negotiation, not a warning, but a force of nature that reshaped the very fabric of existence. Its consequences rippled across the Three Realms, shattering balance and leaving ruin in its wake.
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The Heavenly Garden, once a beacon of divine authority, stood in eerie silence. What had once been an eternal paradise now bore signs of decay. The golden rivers barely shimmered, and the celestial clouds that once radiated warmth now hung dull and heavy.
At the heart of this fading domain, the Divine Sanctuary remained untouched, a grand, floating structure where only the Supreme 7 convened. Within its vast marble halls, six figures sat upon their ethereal thrones, their divine auras flickering ever so slightly—a subtle but undeniable sign of their diminishing power.
The absence of their relics—their divine cores—was a wound they could all feel. The bond between them and the lower realm was severed. And it terrified them.
"We cannot ignore this," Odin, the Allfather, broke the silence, his single eye burning with authority. "We have been stripped of our dominion. Our presence in the mortal realm has weakened to the point of irrelevance. If we do nothing, we will fade into myths."
"Then we take back what is ours," Zeus, the King of Olympus, declared, arcs of weakened lightning crackling across his fingertips. "The Lower Realm was never meant to stand alone. Without us, they are directionless. If we do not move soon, something else will rise in our place."
"You speak as if the Universe did not will this itself." Ra, the Sun God, leaned forward, his golden eyes filled with a quiet fire. "This was not an accident, nor an attack. This was a decree. Do you truly think we can defy it?"
"We have ruled since the beginning," Olodumare, the God of Divine Order, responded sharply. "If we submit to this decree without resistance, we accept the end of our dominion. We are not children waiting to be scolded. We must reclaim our place."
"But at what cost?" Brahma, the God of Creation, asked, his calm demeanor unchanged. "Will we, the gods, who once guided the realms with wisdom, become destroyers simply because we no longer stand above?"
"Enough philosophy," Zeus interrupted. "The mortals cannot be allowed to grow beyond us. If we do not act, the balance will be lost."
"What balance?" Buddha, the God of Wisdom, spoke for the first time, his voice soft yet cutting. "The balance where we reigned while they obeyed? We sit here speaking of dominion, but none of us have asked—what if this is the path they were always meant to take?"
A silence fell over the hall.
Zeus scoffed. "Are you suggesting we simply accept this?"
"No," Buddha replied. "I am suggesting that we move carefully. We are weakened, and if we descend in force, we will not be reclaiming power—we will be declaring war. That is not wisdom. That is desperation."
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Odin exhaled. "Then we must proceed carefully. We will not destroy the lower realm, but we must reclaim what is ours."
The gods had reached their conclusion. They would not rain destruction upon the mortals, but they would not sit idle either.
They would move in silence, watching, waiting, reclaiming their authority where they could. Not as invaders, but as forgotten rulers slowly reclaiming their throne.
And as their voices faded, the 7th god, who had remained silent throughout, remained unmoved by the situation, glaring at the fabric of reality itself.
Unlike the cold deliberation of the gods, Purgatory was in utter disarray.
What was once an unshakable kingdom of destruction now trembled at its core.
Purgatory, the seat of devils and demons, had lost its most powerful force. The Devil himself—the eternal ruler of this realm—was sealed.
And without him, the abyss had begun to unravel.
Infernal flames burned weaker, dark rivers of suffering ran thin, and even the cursed skies that once bled crimson had dulled to a sickly gray.
The demons, once bound by an unbreakable hierarchy, now fell into chaos.
Within the Abyssal Throne, the great council of high-ranking demons gathered, their voices sharp with anger and uncertainty.
"We should march upon the Lower Realm now!" Azgoth, the Butcher of Souls, roared, his monstrous form crackling with unstable energy. "With the gods weakened, it is the perfect time to strike!"
"Fool," hissed Sylvaxis, the Whispering Serpent. "We are weaker as well. The loss of our connection to the lower realm has crippled us. If we rush in without a plan, we will be slaughtered."
"Then what do you suggest?" growled Varzen, the Hellforged, his molten skin shifting with barely restrained fury. "Do we sit here and rot?"
"No." A new voice spoke, calm but commanding. Xirath, the Demon Strategist, stepped forward, his deep red eyes filled with cold calculation. "We do not charge blindly. The gods will move cautiously, trying to reclaim their influence. If we are patient, we can act from the shadows."
"A war of corruption," Varzen mused.
Xirath nodded. "We plant doubt, turn mortals against each other. We do not fight a war we cannot win. We make them destroy themselves."
The demons murmured in agreement. Like the gods, they too had reached a decision.
They would not launch an all-out assault. They would wait, whisper, deceive. And when the moment was right, they would consume.
Yet, while the higher realms schemed, the Lower Realm had already begun its transformation.
Unlike the uncertainty of the gods and the desperation of demons, mortals embraced the unknown.
Something new had awakened—a force beyond the understanding of heaven or hell.
It did not speak in prayers. It did not demand offerings.
It whispered in the depths of their minds. It bled into their vision as flickering panels of light.
[You have been chosen.]
[Your will shall shape your power.]
[Survive. Adapt. Destroy.]
For some, it was salvation. A means to grow stronger.
For others, it was a curse. An endless cycle of survival.
In ruined cities, warriors trained under new laws of strength.
In shattered kingdoms, rulers abandoned faith and turned to numbers, calculations, and raw ability.
And in the shadows, a select few who had suffered the most, who had lost everything to gods and devils alike, whispered among themselves:
"If the heavens abandoned us, we will burn them from the sky."
"If the underworld seeks to consume us, we will devour them first."
The lower realm was no longer a battlefield between gods and devils.
It was something new. Something beyond their grasp.
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The gods prepared to reclaim their lost throne. The demons prepared to corrupt what remained. But neither knew that the world below no longer belonged to them. For the first time in existence, mortals did not look up for salvation. They looked forward, toward a future they would carve with their own hands. And in the silence beyond the realms, the Universe watched.
And it did not interfere.