Scott lifted his gaze toward the unfathomable being within the massive portal, his expression unreadable, his lips sealed in silence.

Another twang echoed—a sound unlike the others. This one carried a strange harmony, a melodic resonance that spread across the territory like an unseen wave.

Scott turned toward another of the enormous rifts. There, cascading through the air like weightless raindrops, pristine white feathers drifted downward, their descent mesmerizing. An angelic tune rang out, soft yet powerful, as if the very air had taken on a divine hymn.

Scott’s brows creased slightly.

Emerging from the portal, a towering humanoid figure—easily over ten feet tall—stepped forward. Dressed in a radiant white toga secured by golden brooches, the being’s presence was both regal and otherworldly. A golden blindfold obscured its eyes, yet Scott’s focus lingered on its wings—eight in total, their sheer presence responsible for the feathered rainfall.

Miniature, cupid-like creatures flitted around it, equally blindfolded, their voices rising in harmonious song. Some plucked harps, their melodies weaving through the air, while others simply sang, their blindfolds seemingly meaningless as they gazed toward Scott in silent reverence.

Unlike the other summons, the Chains of the Abyss did not bind the celestial being in shackles. Instead, they adorned its ankles like decorative anklets, a symbol of servitude, yet absent of constraint.

A soft, feminine voice drifted toward Scott’s ears, each word laced with quiet reverence.

“I have heeded your call,” the being declared, her tone serene yet resolute. “Watch over me, Ruler of Nihility.”

Scott remained silent, neither acknowledging nor rejecting her words.

Then, a new sound filled his ears—a ticking, rhythmic and precise, ever-present and unyielding.

Scott turned toward another portal.

A single arm extended from the abyss, clutching a strange artifact. Runes inscribed upon it spun in sync with the ticking, their motion dictated by an unseen force.

The summons within a kilometer of the portal began to sway, their bodies moving in perfect harmony with the ticks, as if guided by an invisible metronome. Towering rock formations quivered, crumbling and reforming in time with the ticking echoes, as if reality itself was obeying some unseen law.

“This is incredible,” Orion’s voice came through the party channel, his awe palpable. “Truly incredible.”

Scott glanced at the mage. Orion’s eyes gleamed with insatiable curiosity as his gaze darted from one summon to another, lingering nowhere for long. He was like a scholar lost in a forbidden archive, surrounded by boundless knowledge, overwhelmed by the treasures of discovery.

“This place is going to get cramped if you keep calling in more of them,” Orion finally commented, a teasing smile tugging at his lips.

Scott nodded. “I know.”

Turning back to the gathered horde, Scott stretched out his right hand. A system notification flickered before him.

You have requested to share your authority with multiple beings not ranked on the territorial rankings! Are you certain you wish to share your authority? Yes! No!

Without hesitation, Scott selected [Yes].

A new system message instantly followed.

Congratulations! Your authority has been shared!

From his outstretched hand, Scott’s sigil manifested—shifting and writhing like a living specter. It shot forward, slamming into the forms of his summoned creatures.

Yet… none reacted.

No system notification appeared before them, as if the system itself refused to acknowledge their existence.

Scott’s voice echoed through the territory, powerful and commanding, shaking the very ground beneath them.

“Go forth.”

The land trembled.

“Grant mercy to those who know their place.”

The air grew dense, charged with unspoken power.

“And bring ruin to those who resist.”

A heavy silence followed.

Then, as if bound by absolute will, the summons began to vanish—one after another, their forms dissipating into the ether as they set out on their conquest.

The portals that had ushered them forth collapsed behind them, their dark energy fading into nothingness.

Even the newly arrived beings, those who had barely registered their surroundings, were marked by Scott’s sigil and cast into the world before they could even process what had occurred.

In mere moments, the vast land stood empty.

Only Scott and Orion remained.

Orion suddenly burst into laughter—loud and unrestrained, doubling over as he clutched his stomach.

Scott turned toward him, his brow raised. “What’s so funny?”

Orion struggled to contain his amusement, gasping between bouts of laughter. “I can already see the faces of those unfortunate lords,” he managed, wheezing slightly. “I wish I could watch it unfold.”

Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

Scott smirked, opening his mouth to reply—

But his expression shifted.

His head snapped eastward. A system notification materialized before him.

Your territory is being invaded by a Territorial Lord! Fight or Surrender! The choice is yours!

“My, oh my, would you look at that,” Orion mused, peering over Scott’s shoulder at the notification, his amusement undiminished.

Scott’s lips curled into a thin smile.

“Let’s go greet our guests.”

Before Orion could respond, both of them disappeared from the territory in an instant.

----------------------------------------

Scott and Orion reappeared in a region eerily similar to where they had stood moments ago. This time, however, a massive tear in space loomed before them, stretching ominously like a festering wound in reality.

Yet, there was no immediate sign of an invading force.

“This is odd,” Orion muttered, his head swiveling from side to side. “Aren’t they supposed to be invading?” He scratched his head, clearly perplexed.

Scott’s gaze remained fixed on the breach; his expression unreadable. Where the hell are they? He extended his senses, searching for any trace of an enemy presence—but found nothing. Could they be delayed? Or did they retreat the moment they realized who this territory belongs to?

As his thoughts churned, flashes of light suddenly flickered from within the breach.

Orion’s chuckle broke the silence as he summoned his staff. “Looks like they’re finally here,” he mused, his glasses vanishing into his inventory.

Scott remained silent; his war hammer still inactive. The flashes intensified, growing in frequency, until the distant echoes of thumps resonated through the air.

Scott and Orion exchanged a glance.

“Could that be who I think it is?” Orion asked, a mischievous smile creeping across his lips.

The thumping grew louder. The flashes disappeared, replaced instead by the haunting rise of a sonorous, ominous hymn.

Then, they appeared.

Ten bald, scarred giants, their heads bowed, clad in nothing but simple loincloths, dragging a massive cross behind them. Surrounding them were smaller champions draped in black-and-purple cassocks, their voices unified in an eerie, fervent chant.

Scott’s gaze darkened. The Brotherhood of the Cross.

Orion, on the other hand, giggled with uncontained amusement.

“It’s really them,” the mage cackled. “The Brotherhood of the Cross.” Then, as if struck by a sudden realization, he fell silent.

The chanting procession abruptly halted. The smaller figures parted, creating an open path, as though making way for someone of greater significance.

Then, a voice thundered across the area.

“What do we lack?”

A chorus of voices answered in perfect unison.

“Nothing! For our Lord’s mercy sustains us all!”

“What do we want?”

“Everything our Lord desires!”

“What will we offer?”

“We will offer our all for our Lord! We will offer the world for His cause! We will offer all thrones to satisfy His hunger!”

The final words rang with solemn finality.

“Prepare thyselves!”

A moment of tense silence followed. Then, the voices chanted in one unified declaration:

“For the banquet of the King shall commence! All hail the advent of Gluttony! All hail the next ruler of the throne!”

From the path they had cleared, a new procession emerged.

Their cassocks were brilliant orange, distinct from the deep purple of the Brotherhood. Each bore a sigil upon their robes—an emblem of a gaping mouth filled with jagged teeth, spiraling inward like an endless vortex. The deeper the spiral, the darker it became, fading into an abyssal void at its center.

Scott and Orion exchanged looks; their expressions unreadable.

Neither of them recognized these champions. But both understood the weight behind their words.

The Throne of Gluttony. Isn’t that one of the Seven Deadly Sins? Scott pondered, his gaze locking onto the figure leading the orange-clad procession.

Their cassocks obscured any defining features. No faces, no visible skin. Not even height or stature set them apart from one another. Their gait, their movements—perfectly synchronized.

Orion let out a breath of astonishment.

“This is truly impressive,” he murmured, his eyes gleaming with curiosity. “Even my clones can’t mimic my mannerisms this flawlessly. It’s like they all share one mind… one body.”

“Now’s not the time to be impressed,” Scott stated flatly through the party channel.

Orion chuckled. “I can’t help it. I’m a sucker for ingenious use of abilities.”

Scott rolled his eyes but didn’t respond.

A beat passed before Orion’s voice drifted into his mind again.

“So, how do you suggest we handle our guests?”

Scott didn’t turn to face him. “I’d rather you return to the others,” he said simply. “Your clones are capable, but I’d prefer if you were there in person.”

Orion sighed dramatically. “You’re no fun,” he muttered. “And here I was, getting hyped for a battle.” His staff vanished back into his inventory, and his glasses reappeared on his face. Adjusting them slightly, he added, “Are you sure you’re good?”

Scott smirked. “I have no reason to feel threatened.”

Orion chuckled while shaking his head. “Alright then. Send me on my way.”

Scott raised a hand, summoning a portal beneath Orion’s feet. The mage offered a lazy wave toward both Scott and the approaching invaders before vanishing from sight.

Now alone, Scott turned his full attention toward the intruders.

How should I deal with these people?

As if responding to his unspoken thought, the orange-clad champions halted in their advance.

One of them stepped forward, their steps slow, measured.

A familiar ding echoed in Scott’s ears. A system notification appeared before him.

You have been issued a Surrender Decree!

Scott’s eyes flicked between the notification and the approaching figure.

Then, his lips parted slightly. He threw his head back, laughing uncontrollably.

The figure stopped mid-step.

The rest of the procession continued forward, fully crossing into his territory.

The Brotherhood of the Cross immediately prostrated themselves, pressing their foreheads to the ground. The massive giants dug the towering cross into the earth, its presence casting a long, ominous shadow over the area.

The lead figure in orange finally spoke. Their voice was deep, yet eerily devoid of emotion.

“What say you?”

Laughter greeted them in return.

The voices of the champions from the brotherhood suddenly quieted, then it rose in a solemn, eerie chant, piercing through the stillness like a dirge of the damned:

By the iron and nails, let blood stain the wood,

In the shadow of the cross, where redemption once stood.

Let bones rattle low, as flesh grieves its loss,

For we worship the dark beneath the sacred cross.

The hymn pulsed through the land like a living curse, reverberating in sync with the rhythmic thudding of cross upon the barren earth.

The giants hauling the massive cross came to an abrupt halt. Then, with terrifying coordination, they lifted it high, their muscles bulging under unseen strain. With a deafening boom, they slammed its wooden base into the ground.

The impact sent tremors racing through the territory.

Then, again—

They lifted the cross, raised it even higher, and slammed it down once more, shaking the very foundations of the earth.

As the cross settled, its weight sinking deep into the fractured ground, the giants exhaled in unison, their breaths carrying the scent of blood and decay. Their bodies shifted—muscles thickening, veins darkening, raw power radiating from their twisted forms. Their bloodlust became tangible, an oppressive force that weighed heavily upon the battlefield.

The champions in cassocks knelt before the cross, their eyes glazed with manic devotion. Their chanting grew louder, their voices blending into something almost inhuman.

Then, the lead figure stepped forward.

Their hand, withered and skeletal, emerged from the confines of their cassock’s sleeve, a single bony finger extending toward Scott.

“You will be prepared as an offering for the King,” the figure intoned, their voice hollow and final.

Silence followed.

Then—Scott’s laughter stopped. Replaced by a slow, curling smile—devilish and predatory.

His voice, smooth yet laced with an underlying madness, cut through the air like a blade.

“Do you think of this as reality?”