The Prophet felt a flash of triumph, seeing Scythe manifest in the shadow of Nether King Hungry Eye. The positioning was perfect; It didn’t have any proof of the feeling, but with the consequences riding on the creation of humanity, both for Elhume and for the plans laid out in the Cult’s Prophecy, there was a general consensus Nether King Hungry Eye would show up and try and pilfer some of the spoils.

They called him Hungry Eye for a reason, after all. The bastard had a stomach ambitious enough to try and digest even the Nexus itself.

The executioner bathed in the light of El-Kedec needed only to inflict the slightest cut with the blade and the powerful physical body of the Nether King would be rendered moot. Those struck by the Scythe would experience a vicious mental cleansing which was impossible to prepare for, and most often fatal.

Still, the Scythe’s looming attack on Hungry Eye didn’t relieve the tension in the Prophet’s chest; his mind kept turning over the events of the previous few minutes, trying to understand the strange words uttered by Elhume and the Prophet’s own, illogical, agreement.

There had been the strangest stutter. And although they had not returned to reality, skipping across the moment of… other left the Prophet troubled.

A few minutes before, the process of creating Humanity had been well underway. The boy Padraic had stabilized the outer ritual and the Patron of the Deep provided a font of life, allowing Elhume to handle the details of the creation. And despite the fact the man crackled with emptiness, he had an eye for detail that couldn’t be matched. Ultimately, his whole image pivoted on precision. While a series of crackling energy fireworks exploded around the edges of the working, the disparate elements they had refined were brought into alignment within the prepared clay body.

Sweat dripped down Elhume’s brow as he pulled and twisted, lowered and locked, creating the cohesive soul of the population. The Prophet had leaned forward, his eye bulging to catch every image being neatly sewn together into the essence of humans. Already, the heart provided by Padraic began to pulse and flare in the core. The depths of potential that working possess astounded the Prophet; it made a mental note to keep track of Padraic in the future if he was capable of this sort of work.

The Prophecy had glossed over him, so it seemed likely that he would soon die in the coming war between Aether and Nether. In the Prophet’s opinion, this was for the best. Talented individuals were always variables that would need to be neutralized. Doubly so, because Padraic had a casual acquaintance with Nether King Hungry Eye.

A brilliant, holistic halo of light had begun to form around the clay body as Elhume’s efforts began to be rewarded. Humanity, the whole spiritual existence began to condense. Steam wafted up from the heart as the amount of life energy flowing through its confines doubled and then increased by tenfold. Yet the heart handled it all, more and more brilliant lines of possibility stretching out.

“To stand on the cusp of history…” Still a blazing sun of life energy, the Patron of the Deep sighed with obvious pleasure. Although he must be strained by providing energy, his eyes remained bright and enthusiastic. “I have encountered no greater sensation.”

Then circumstances had twitched and shoved the group down a different a darker path.

The problem came from Padraic’s heart. The Prophet saw the careful restrictions Elhume had laid throughout humanity go into effect; they squeezed at the edge of the receptacle of potential, just enough pressure to shut some of the outer lines of possibilities. However, Padraic hadn’t accounted for such a development when he had woven the heart. The pressure along the outer edges of the heart built up, the whole working beginning to tremble. And then the strained outer lines of potential collapsed inward, destroying nearby energy flows and creating strange, deviant, twisted arrangements of energy that cut across several of the previously parallel but separate possibilities.

A strange, resonant note like the yearning call of a lonely whale hummed out as discharged energy seeped into the clay body.

Rapidly, the situation in the heart began to deteriorate. The deviant flows of energy swelled, taking over more space. Nearby flows needed to shrink to compensate it. The destabilization slowed, but the pressure of this monstrous new energy flow kept twisting and leaning toward the center of the heart. And if it reached the middle-

Padraic’s face had been white as he watched the growing error. “I… I’m so sorry. I didn’t know-”

“It is nothing,” Elhume growled, his bulging eyes revealing his fury, but obviously Padraic wasn’t responsible; all of Elhume’s anger turned inward, at himself. Even the Prophet felt slightly chagrined at its own actions. Because had they left those wings upon the heart, the ones that would have allowed humanity to deal equally in Nether as in Aether, would have acted as a buffer against these restrictions.

So not only had Elhume clandestinely added the restrictions that had upset the balance, he had removed the buffer that would have prevented it.

The clay body groaned and trembled. The skin began to bubble and ripple. The bright flares of colors around the working began to edge darker along the color wheel, toward maroons and purples, the color of bruised flesh and setting suns painting the space around it. The deviant energy flow bulged and twisted, heading a little bit closer to the middle.

“Deep!” Elhume barked. The veins in his neck bulged. “More life energy! Sustain it through this!”

This novel is published on a different platform. Support the original author by finding the official source.

“Although energy can do many things, in this case, you don’t seem to comprehend the function-” The Patron of the Deep launched into an explanation that was quickly smashed to pieces by an inarticulate yell of fury from Elhume.

The Origin Beast had sent a reproachful look toward his friend but did as asked, pushing the energy he released to a whole new plateau. Even the Prophet’s skin began to tingle, so soaked in rich energy that it began to chew at his skin.

Elhume seized the energy and stuffed as much as he could into the heart working, inserting the energy directly into the central portion, which needed to be protected at all costs. With this entry point, the flows around the fragile middle had become swollen, resisting the advance of the energy. But at the same time, that energy began to radiate outward through the rest of the veins of possibility. And with this new energy, the deviant flow grew stronger.

Its middle grew fat and the edges pulsed, like a leech happily feeding on an artery.

At about the same time that the Prophet had, Elhume seemed to realize that the only way to prevent the flaw from reaching the central portion of the heart and reaping unknown consequences was for the amount of energy flowing into the heart’s middle to be constantly rising, staying ahead of the energy in the outer portion.

In effect, this current method was unsustainable and likely worsened the eventual consequences.

A bleak emptiness settled across Elhume’s features, right as a sputtering bit of energy painted him with crimson light. His mouth firmed into a tight line and he gathered all that crackling abyss of his image into several sharp points. Right as the deviant energy flow in the heart expanded and spread toward the core area, he unleashed several sharp spikes of absence, stopping the flaw dead.

But the heart, as it turned out, was too fragile to handle the sudden stabs of absence. With an audible snap, the heart shattered and created several more thin deviant flows. And with how much energy rushed through the working, those flaws quickly swelled up just like the first, until the heart was dominated by roaring, deviant flows of energy.

However, the Prophet’s eyes narrowed. A strange, fractured quality, similar to the multiplied reflections of a shattered mirror, suddenly glittered around the core intersection point of the flaws. The deviant flow was distorted and severed as it flowed into it, split back into more manageable pathways, albeit obviously corrupted ones. How… strange. Those deviant flows should be wild and vicious; why can the edges of the heart withstand the pressure, while the central portion could not? And there is something quite strange about the phenomenon produced-

“The edges of the ritual are beginning to corrode,” Padraic announced in a panicked voice. Already, the ground began to shake as the engraved energy sinks began to fail, underneath the rising tide of discharge.

Elhume had twitched, perhaps believing he could remove his absence spikes and fix the problem and then simultaneously realizing such a thing would be impossible. The discharge around the heart worsened every second, damaging the foundation of humanity with the wild, uncontrolled power. He swayed for a second, considering his options. Then he turned with dark eyes toward the Patron of the Deep.

“Humanity needs an anchor. More than just life poured on top of them,” Elhume whispered. “A sacrifice.”

To his credit, the Patron of the Deep understood what the other meant almost immediately. He paled, his massive body quivering. “You… you wish for me to surrender my existence for the sake of this unborn race? To bleed upon their altar to expiration, never to witness the fruits of my labor.”

“Surely, there would be no greater honor you could experience,” Elhume spat out the words with a fair coating of sarcasm. The presence of void in his image billowed out in the enclosed space of the room, sucking away some of the life energy and nearly all of the air.

“I-I-” The Patron of the Deep had wavered. The Prophet’s eyes glittered, in those moments, his worries from the past month falling away. Warm and comforting life suffused his whole being— As the Prophecy had stated, due to the decline of his race, his desire for greatness and permanence, his relationship with Elhume, and also due to his current situation, the Patron of the Deep would acquiesce.

Despite the strangeness of this space, the Prophecy would not fail.

When the Patron of the Deep glowered and lifted his chin, the Prophet felt its heart seize. His doubts came surging back, frigid stabs that ripped through his faith in El-Kedec. As he suspected, Nether King Hungry Eye had interfered in this as well. “I refuse, Elhume. I have my own life-”

“Your wounds will soon claim you, anyway. Why not accomplish something great before your demise?” Elhume’s voice softened but did not relent.

For a split second, the Prophet knew those words would sway the Origin Beast. The Patron of the Deep had such deep wounds, it was a surprise he had lived this long-”

The Patron of the Deep blinked. “Wounds? What wounds? My sorrows might be prodigious, but I would hardly-”

Both the Prophet and Elhume lurched. Looking at the fist-user, the Prophet could see that he had been similarly certain that the Patron of the Deep had been quite wounded, on the cusp of death. Yet suddenly, that conclusion dissipated like a mirage, leaving both of them wondering why they had jumped to that conclusion.

This is proof! A burning excitement surged through the Prophet, tinged with relief. Hungry Eye is definitively interfering the Prophecy! Our actions have consequences. We have been forced away from grace-

Elhume came to a different conclusion. His eyes had firmed. He had tightened his hands into fists. He took a strong step and crossed the distance to the Patron of the Deep. His image flared, but concentrated just around his hand, so as not to ruin the already unstable working. His intentions were clear; if you didn’t have the wounds now, he would just inflict them, with one of his vicious punches.

In that strained moment, the wall had exploded as Hungry Eye entered the tableau. Energy howled and seethed, the situation rapidly worsening. And then with an admirable display of Nether power, he stopped Elhume’s punch from across the room. The Prophet also didn’t miss the way the effort flared and stalled the sundering of humanity’s clay body, briefly giving them time to right the ship.

Yet the Nether King had also opened himself up, allowing Scythe to slip into his shadow.

Finally, The Prophet leered, but he saw something truly unbelievable as the Nether King should have been struck down.

Scythe, standing in Hungry Eye’s shadow with his weapon raised, paused and shivered. Driven by fear, he peered over his own shoulder into the face of a new darkness.

Standing there, an even larger monster appeared, all smiles and teeth. The carrion thing of dusk and dolorous hunger reached out and Scythe flinched.