A grim tableau was set as Zarkoff lay sprawled amidst a crimson pool, his gaze directed heavenward. With each ragged breath drawn, he savoured the imminent end that approached him. It was an oddly tranquil state for one on the brink of demise, and this sense of peace was buoyed by the palpable fear that emanated from his assailant, who knelt nearby, dreading the arrival of the reckoning.
"Death awaits, and it beckons me. Yet soon, the whole world shall tread the path that I now embark upon," mused the sadistic Zarkoff, a twisted grin playing upon his lips. His gaze, though life's light was waning, was cast upon the expansive sky, where an enigma unfurled itself.
A fleeting object dashed across his field of vision, invoking his intrigue: "What in the realm could that be?" Faint worry tinged his thoughts, "When all the world stands paralysed in the grip of an overwhelming force, what could dare to disregard such monumental pressure?" Squinting with what remained of his fading sight, he sought to discern the identity of the enigmatic presence.
Within the crepuscular embrace, vision clouded by crimson and shadows, Zarkoff's senses captured a silhouette against the sky—an entity with wings outstretched, eclipsing even the encroaching night. Illuminated momentarily by the flare of lightning, the figure scanned the highlands below. Its movements were quick, head jerking in short, erratic motions, akin to a creature in pursuit of something of great import.
"A raven?" The thought emerged, igniting a flicker of recognition within Zarkoff's diminishing consciousness. And as swiftly as the bird had appeared, his own light dwindled, extinguished by the notion that the raven carried meaning, even in his final moments.
Perched atop the mountain's peak, Yuvan knelt with his hands pressed to the earth, his form beset by the overwhelming pressure that engulfed him. Although situated miles distant from the epicentre of the God's acre, he could still perceive the ethereal manifestation of the God's true form on the distant horizon.
As the colossal figure loomed over existence, Yuvan gritted his teeth and fought to withstand the immense force that bore down upon him. Even as the divine presence projected an aura of supremacy, Yuvan's resolve remained unshaken. "I care not for that entity gazing upon me like a mere insect," Udal's voice resonated within, his first words since their consciousness had entwined. "But heed my words, should you ever deign to look upon me with contempt, I solemnly swear by my clan's name that I shall sever this unholy existence, subjecting myself to the most excruciating torments imaginable, ensuring you taste my anguish firsthand."
Yuvan maintained his silence, his focus drawn to the approaching raven, which glided inexorably in his direction.
"Hey!" Udal's exclamation resonated again, his frustration palpable.
Yet again, Yuvan paid little attention to his internal counterpart, his gaze locked onto the approaching avian figure. The bird's presence was unusual, its appearance deviating from the norm as the distance between them diminished. Though it outwardly resembled a raven, its appearance harboured sinister abnormalities. Its lifeless eyes were consumed by a viscous black substance that dripped down its neck, coiling through its form and seeping into its dark feathers.
With the raven's approach came an imminent threat that surged through Yuvan's veins, triggering an adrenaline-fuelled surge of cognition. In a split second, he assimilated the available data, systematically eliminating the possibilities of mortal assailants targeting him in the darkened hours. His mind raced, parsing the facts and acknowledging the presence of a divine entity. The question of which deity lingered unanswered—it was no time for conjecture.
As his instincts screamed of impending danger, Yuvan's body responded with urgency, his muscles tensing in preparation for evasive manoeuvres. He attempted to rise, to create distance from the oncoming threat, but his efforts were rendered futile. The raven abruptly launched itself at him, its trajectory aimed at his vulnerable form as it drew closer.
"Crap! Only to die like this, just after suffering the humiliation of enslavement," Udal's voice lamented, echoing the grim situation that unfolded. The raven's trajectory led it to pierce Yuvan's abdomen, a morbid and sudden attack that seemed destined for tragedy. From the raven's mouth emerged the small ant, which transitioned into Yuvan's body. Simultaneously, the raven's form began to disintegrate, transforming into dark fumes that enveloped Yuvan. Amidst the shadows, the fumes took on unfamiliar shapes, clustering and attaching to every inch of his body.
"RELAX AND LET IT ALL IN," a commanding voice resonated within Yuvan's mind, echoing through his thoughts.
"Hey, it's not me, man. That ant is trying to take over our body, fight it," Udal's urgent plea sounded, but it went unheard.
Ignoring Udal's words yet again, Yuvan hesitated. There was an odd familiarity about this situation, as if he recognized a piece of himself within the darkness. Despite Udal's insistence, Yuvan's guard wavered, and the moment slipped away from him. The archaic letters igniting across his body emitted an intense heat, absorbed into his very being. He longed to scream, but the loss of motor control rendered him immobile.
The convergence of letters gave rise to dark web-like patterns that stretched across his form. Blood began to seep from his pores, merging with the enigmatic symbols etched onto his skin. The archaic letters across his body started to converge at his navel, the heat produced caused the blood to evaporate, shrouding Yuvan in a thin veil of red fog.
Like the raven that preceded him, Yuvan's eyes began to transform, their hue turning inky black. The relentless progression of the arcane process left him powerless, consciousness slipping away, not even giving Udal the chance to say, ‘I told you so!’
Emerging from the abyss of unconsciousness, Yuvan found himself dragged by an invisible force. The initial confusion slowly gave way to clarity, revealing a scene before him. A portal was being prepared by a group of individuals, mostly Asuras who seemed to hold him in high regard. As he neared the portal, his presence prompted others to make way for him, a mark of respect.
Taking control, he issued a command that set the proceedings in motion. Placing a dark purple crystal at the centre of the formation, he observed as formation masters meticulously activated the arrangement. The lapis lazuli aura spread across the portal, pulsating with an uncanny vitality. With the crystal's energy, a rhythmic beat of dark purple swept through the portal, animating it.
As the portal's life surged, it began to draw souls into itself. The formation masters diligently collected these essence-laden souls and transferred them to a complex formation centred around a large cauldron.
However, amid this arcane process, a sense of unease descended upon the Asuras. The heavens themselves stirred, a distant rumble reverberating through the valley like the wrathful growl of celestial beings. Heads turned skyward, foreboding clutching at their hearts.
The assault continued, and the formation's stony façade displayed signs of strain, cracks zigzagging across its surface. Once-proud spires crumbled under the unrelenting onslaught. Yet, the army of darkness did not yield; they fought back with fervour, their weapons and spells clashing against the torrent of thunder and lightning.
Thunder roared like a triumphant battle cry, drowning out the cries of the Asuras as if it were a reminder of the forces beyond. The resistance of the malevolent forces wavered, their ranks dispersing in the face of nature's fury. This reprieve allowed some souls to slip through the defences.
And then, as swiftly as it began, the storm began to subside. Thunder issued a final, authoritative rumble—a warning to the mortals below.
This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.
A voice broke through the aftermath, as the man in charge addressed a young figure named Jeremiah. The instructions were given, and the course of action was set in motion, all under the watchful gaze of Yuvan.
Once more, Yuvan's consciousness slipped into the abyss of darkness.
When it resurfaced, he found himself standing atop a tree, enveloped by the spectral form of a creature resembling a hellhound. His focus was set on a village down below, which seemed eerily familiar—it was his own birthplace.
The gaze of the hellhound-like entity fixated on a group of children huddled around a fire, captivated by a tale spun by a middle-aged man by the flames. While Yuvan couldn't recognize the storyteller, he was able to identify some of the children present.
Suddenly, the creature's attention shifted as the castle gates creaked open. An elderly man with silver hair emerged—the great elder Geoffrey. The creature wasted no time, leaping from the tree and hurtling towards Yuvan's former dwelling. At his charred and abandoned hut, it found nothing but a newborn babe lying on the floor, eyes wide open, absorbing its surroundings.
The creature gently tapped the infant's neck, inducing a peaceful slumber without causing harm. It then lifted the child and sprinted towards another hut in the village. Beside this hut, children sat, engaged in their banter.
"Appa! I saw a shadow lurking near our home," chimed a young girl's voice.
"It's always her excuse," the children began to bicker.
Returning the child to his bed, the spectral hound resumed its journey to Yuvan's abandoned abode. There, it awaited the arrival of Geoffrey, who soon returned and set fire to the dwelling.
Yuvan struggled to comprehend the significance of what he was witnessing before his vision blurred once more, plunging him into a murky void.
In the subsequent vision, Geoffrey knelt before Jeremiah, a palpable air of subservience surrounding him.
"Do not allow personal sentiments to cloud your judgement, but ensure that your patriarch gains entry to the God's acre—by any means necessary," commanded the Asura commander.
"As you command, my lord," Geoffrey responded with unwavering obedience.
Time seemed to hasten, the scenes becoming a whirlwind of rapid imagery, a sense of urgency settling over Yuvan's perception.
He found himself perched atop a mountain ash tree, observing his own scorched figure emerge with a limp from a burned carriage. The captain's sharp gaze seemed to fixate on him.
A barrage of scenes followed, snapshots from Yuvan's life in the academy flashing before him.
Then came the moment of his blade piercing Lord Hubaal's form, followed by his ascent into the condensed energy sphere. Scenes of his transformed avatar hovering in the air, encircled by an army of shadow warriors engaged in a battle against both world factions, were quickly succeeded by the rending sky and descending lightning.
Abruptly, the vision ended, leaving Yuvan enveloped in complete darkness once more.
Yuvan found himself adrift in a boundless sea of darkness, a realm of silence and emptiness, until a voice he recognized pierced through the void. "Yuvaan! Or would you prefer to be addressed as young master Ethan?"
"Yohan?!" The sound triggered recognition, and Yuvan turned his attention to the source.
Gazing into Yohan's eyes, Yuvan saw his rival suspended in the same obscure expanse.
With a reassuring tone, Yohan spoke again. "I assure you, there's no harm intended. I've come to ask for your cooperation." Yuvan's sense of caution remained palpable, prompting Yohan to offer further explanation. "Relax, Yuvaan, ease your apprehensions. What you're experiencing here are the memories of a departed soul."
Confusion played across Yuvan's features, his memories intertwining with Yohan's words. Yohan pressed on, understanding the uncertainty Yuvan displayed. "I am no longer among the living. I fell victim to the Demonic God Baal, eradicated from existence itself. I realize this revelation may be overwhelming, but I'll attempt to condense everything for you."
Yohan's voice resonated through the void, recounting his enigmatic role in Baal's grand scheme—a pawn selected for a crucial part in the requiem of God, the Ragnarok connection.
"I was chosen by the Demonic God Baal," Yohan's words carried a weight of acceptance and inevitability, "to play a pivotal role in the orchestration of the requiem of God, the Ragnarok connection."
The details of his selection remained shrouded in uncertainty. "The exact moment I was chosen is unclear, but my life began in a Super clan. As its sole heir, I received unparalleled education, training, and privilege. Each step of my life seemed to unfold seamlessly, with serendipitous encounters that led me forward."
Yohan acknowledged the sense of surveillance that accompanied his existence. "From the very beginning, I sensed an invisible observer monitoring my journey. Despite this awareness, I chose to feign ignorance and focus on cultivating my strength. It was a façade, a pretence to appear oblivious."
The turning point was marked by Baal's manipulation through dreams—a tactic Yohan despised. "I share your distaste for manipulation, but against the might of a god, resistance was futile. In order to oppose an omnipotent deity, I needed a mindset as unconventional and audacious as yours."
Yohan then recounted an earlier era, one in which the Sword Saint ascended, triggering a world-altering catastrophe. "The Sword Saint's ascension came at the cost of a cataclysm that left the world and humanity devastated. Despite the calamity, the prospect of a weakened God seemed a more favourable outcome than an ordinary mortal existence."
Within the chaos of the cataclysm, Baal recognized an opportunity—a chance to strike the God or weaken its essence. "As the barriers between worlds wavered during the God's assimilation, Baal saw a path to provoke the God's will. It was a bid to amplify the strength of assimilation, and this is where my role came into play."
Yohan's role, as it unfolded in the narrative, became apparent—a demon from another realm, elevated to a divine echelon. "I was the conduit for this scheme—a being not native to this world, elevated to divine stature. I embodied the essence that could incite the God's will most potently, fulfilling the criteria that Baal had set."
Amidst the void, Yuvan grappled with the magnitude of Yohan's revelations. The intricate web of fate and manipulation was spun with threads of divine and demonic influence, creating a story that spanned across realms and challenged the very nature of existence.
Yohan continued, “Upon arriving in this realm, I existed for three centuries under Baal's manipulative influence from the shadows. Gradually, surpassing even the crippled God in strength. Despite the Sword Saint's triumph, divine will and celestial beings kept him under surveillance, stunting his growth. Nonetheless, he endured as though a tenacious cockroach.”
Amid this struggle, fate intervened with the introduction of the En-sof stone. Guided by visions and celestial interventions, I received the imperative. Similar to our earlier experience, my mission was to shatter the stone, journey backward in time, and seize the opportunity of ascension. Supported by Baal and aided by the existence of the Sword God anomaly, I traversed four centuries into the past, where divine interference was mitigated.
Yuvan's unyielding question, "What's your endgame?" lingered, his gaze unwavering.
A person's essence resides in memories; they define our very identity. Even with my soul obliterated, remnants endure through these memories, fragments I entrusted to the ant you enslaved...
Again, Yuvan probed, "What's your endgame?"
"Reincarnation," Yohan declared firmly.
The query persisted, prompting Yohan to explain his intent, "How?"
His response was forthright and unambiguous, "By slaying Baal and reclaiming my soul."
As the conversation hung in the air, laden with Yohan's resolve and destiny beckoning him, the earth trembled once more, curtailing the discourse and signalling the imminent danger ahead.
Back at the expanse of God's Acre,
Baal's perception was tinged with a growing unease. The Ohr, the divine energy that bound and fuelled the existence of the God’s will, seemed to be waning. However, Baal's intuition sensed that it was not a result of the gods' collective assault. A nagging uncertainty gnawed at him, like a puzzle piece just out of reach.
Then, like a bolt of realization, it struck him. The Ohr wasn't diminishing—it was contracting, mirroring the primordial act of creation, akin to the way The God had formed the universe from the void.
The concept of condensation, the divine energy contracting to create a space, resonated in his mind. Tzimtzum, the paradoxical coexistence of divine presence and absence within that vacuum, played out before him. Baal's connection to the Almighty's boundless wisdom enabled him to grasp the intricate web of reality beyond the battlefield.
However, his understanding came too late. The vacuum was manifesting. With a resonance that rippled through the celestial realms, the Almighty invoked the latent unity that transcended pantheons and dimensions. The vacuum acted as a metaphysical singularity, a gravitational force pulling on the threads that interwove the various facets of divinity.
Like a cosmic maw, the vacuum eagerly swallowed the remnants of Baal's dwindling divinity. With inexorable power, it stripped him of his immortality, drawing away his divine essence. The Earths quaked and the skies split open as the very fabric of existence trembled in response.
Across the world, the Ohr, the divine energy that had once filled the pantheons and realms, began to coalesce toward a singular focal point. Even the gods and demons, mighty as they were, felt their divinity slipping away. Their divine weapons, once channels of formidable power, now faded as the Ohr within them faded. The process was relentless and unforgiving, leaving even the immortals in a state of mortal vulnerability as the last vestiges of divinity were drawn into the gaping vacuum.
As the universe's essence was drawn into the concentrated ball of energy, it pulsed and quivered with palpable anticipation. It seemed to hold within it the very fabric of existence, a swirling vortex of power that defied comprehension. Then, with a surge of energy that transcended the boundaries of time and space, the ball expanded with explosive force. It transformed, metamorphosing into a towering monolith of darkness that transcended the celestial heavens and delved deep into the hearts and souls of mortals.
The tower that materialized was a manifestation of awe and foreboding, casting a shadow that stretched across the realms. Its form was both alien and ancient, a convergence of cosmic energies twisted into an imposing structure that seemed to pierce through the barriers of reality itself.
Within the maelstrom of energy and intent that swirled around the tower, a message resonated. It was a voice that carried far beyond the boundaries of the ordinary, transcending the realms and dimensions that composed the universe. It was a command that echoed in the recesses of every being's mind, a declaration that reverberated in the very essence of existence.
לכבוש את המגדל! והפוך לאל האמיתי של העולם הזה!
CONQUER THE TOWER! AND BECOME THE TRUE GOD OF THIS WORLD!
The words cascaded like ripples through the waters of the collective consciousness, echoing not once, but thrice. They resonated with a sense of urgency, a call to action that bore the weight of destiny itself. And yet, despite the magnitude of the command and the urgency it conveyed, a hushed stillness gripped the multitude of souls that stood witness.
Confusion etched itself upon the faces of gods, demons, and beings that spanned the spectrum of existence. They found themselves ensnared by a moment of profound uncertainty, suspended between the known and the unknown. The world quaked beneath their feet, its foundations rattled by the reverberations of this unprecedented event.
Amidst the cosmic tension, the realms stood poised at the brink of an uncharted chapter in their existence. The tower, an enigmatic sentinel, loomed as a harbinger of change, its dark form casting a veil of mystery that shrouded the fate of all. And within the hearts of those who gazed upon it, a choice lingered—whether to heed the call, to take that daring step into a destiny yet unwritten, or to remain ensnared by the tendrils of uncertainty, forever bound by the threads of the past.