Chapter 17 The Devouring Truth
It began with a knock—no, a pounding—at the great gates. A force so violent, so unnatural, that the very stones trembled in terror. My ancestors beheld the horror that stood before them: a beast of impossible proportions, a writhing amalgamation of countless creatures, its grotesque form shifting like a nightmare given flesh. Its very shadow stretched over the city, swallowing the streets in an abyss of darkness—a living incarnation of fear.
Even the dreaded Witch, whose power struck terror into the hearts of men, seemed feeble in comparison. Against this monstrous being, my ancestors were helpless. Chaos erupted as panic gripped the city, and from every corner, screams of terror rose like a chorus to the void. Blood spilled. Bodies fell. Despair took root where hope once stood. And still, the beast did not falter. My ancestors, loyal and steadfast, cast themselves into battle, their blades and sorcery crashing against the abyss. But their struggle was meaningless. The monster did not slow, did not waver—it moved through them like a force of nature, as if to remind them of their insignificance.
Yet the beast had but one desire: the Light of Nytheris, the sacred radiance of our god. In a final, desperate plea, Nytheris answered. The heavens trembled as divine power took form—a radiant bloom, a celestial flower of light, rising to meet the darkness. For days, their battle raged, shaking the earth and scarring the land, a war unlike any the people of Thalmyra had ever seen.
But faith alone could not halt the abyss.
To their horror, my ancestors watched as the last ember of Nytheris flickered and died, swallowed by the encroaching void. Their cries went unanswered. Their god, once resplendent, was no more. And then, from the shadows, the beast emerged once more—its form twisted, changed. The divine bloom, once a beacon of salvation, had become its new maw. It opened, not to spill light, but darkness. A flower of death, an unholy hunger given form.
And then, it devoured.
The city, the land, my ancestors—all consumed, torn from existence as if they had never been. And when nothing remained, the beast sank into the depths of the ocean, where even now, the ruins of its feast lie hidden beneath the waves—a silent testament to the day light was swallowed whole.
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Allan's voice lingered in the air, carried by the cold breeze of revelation that settled over Mifa and Viktor like a heavy shroud.
"A beast of hunger that devours all..." Mifa murmured, her expression unreadable.
Viktor took a sharp step forward, his brows furrowed in disbelief. "That... That can't be!" His voice wavered between shock and defiance. "The Divine Beast would never do something like that!"
Allan's gaze darkened. "I know it's difficult to accept, but this is the truth my ancestors held onto—even at the cost of their lives."
Viktor shook his head, struggling to process it. "This is the first time I've ever heard of this." His voice dropped to a quieter, more uncertain tone. "The books at the academy never mentioned anything like this. The church always taught that the Divine Beast of Hunger was created by the gods to protect the world. If that’s true, why would it do such a thing?"
Hally seemed to look at her Grandfather's face for a bit and with an unreadable expression stepped outside the room and into the kitchen.
"the tea is getting cold, I will re heat it at the kitchen Granpa" Hally said.
"thank you dear" Allan said.
Mifa took a glance on her tea at the table. "strange..." she muttered.
Allan sighed, the weight of history pressing on his shoulders. ""why would it do such a thing?", That was the very question my ancestors asked. They sought the truth, desperate to understand the beast’s true nature. But when the city fell, they were scattered across the continent, looking for answers. And instead of knowledge or solace, they found only scorn." He exhaled bitterly. "Who would believe such a thing? That their so-called divine protector was a force of destruction? It didn’t take long before the Church of the Divine Maw branded them as blasphemers, accusing them of secretly worshipping the Witch of the End. They called the fall of our city ‘heaven’s punishment’—a divine reckoning for our supposed heresy." His fingers curled into fists. "And with that, the hunting began. Believers turned their hatred toward us, hunting my ancestors down in every corner of the continent. Only a few survived, forced into hiding, living among those who despised them until time eroded the memory of our people… and their hate. And now, here we are, our history reduced to mere artifacts and forgotten tales."
A heavy silence followed. Viktor’s expression was unreadable, his gaze fixed on the ground. His hands clenched and unclenched, as if trying to grasp something intangible.
"I don’t..." he started, his voice barely above a whisper. "I don’t know if I can believe this. I was raised under the guidance of the church. The academy, my professors... everything I know tells me this can’t be true. This... this goes against everything I was taught." He swallowed hard. "I need time to think."
Mifa glanced at him, her expression calm but thoughtful. "It's still too early to draw conclusions," she said. "There are too many missing pieces. When we get back, we should ask Aizen about this."
Viktor gave a slow, hesitant nod, but the doubt in his eyes remained.
"Not that it matters anymore." Allan stood and turned toward the window, gazing at the horizon as the sun dipped below it. "My ancestors are long gone. Dwelling on the past won’t change the future. The church doesn’t want their gods’ reputations tarnished. Through their believers, they’ve gained power and influence—who wouldn’t want to maintain that? Young man, whatever truth you find along the way, I suggest you keep it to yourself. Unless you want your fate to be the same as ours. Remember—there are things out there far more terrifying than beasts. And they are watching."
The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.
Just as Allan finished speaking, a faint green light flickered in the distance.
Allan twitched, his body stiffening. A beat later, he collapsed.
Mifa stepped back, her hand clenching something inside her purse.
Viktor’s heart pounded. "Mr. Allan?" he called out.
The old man didn’t move. His lifeless body lay on the floor, a glowing green arrow buried in his chest.
The room tensed, the weight of sudden death sinking into the air.
"GET DOWN!" Mifa screamed.
"W-WHAA—?!" Viktor yelped as he dove behind the couch.
Mifa dropped as well, her voice steady as she chanted, "Oh lord of the night, hide us within your shadows and protect us from harm—Veil of the Umbral Watcher!"
A thick, dark smoke engulfed them just as arrows rained through the windows, piercing into the walls and floorboards.
"WHAT IS HAPPENING!?" Viktor shouted.
"Calm down! We need to find Hally!" Mifa ordered.
Scanning the room, they spotted Hally trembling beneath a kitchen table, her eyes wide with fear.
"Hally, come with me!" Mifa reached for her.
"W-Where's Grandpa?!" Hally whimpered.
"We'll talk later!" Mifa pulled her into the smoke’s cover.
"I’ll try calling Aizen!" She yanked a mirror from her bag and poured mana into it.
"What is that?!" Viktor asked, still panicked.
"A mana transmission device—no time to explain!" Mifa’s expression darkened. "No... NO!" She shook the mirror in frustration. "They’re disrupting the mana flow—it’s blocking the transmission!"
The arrows ceased. The silence was worse.
Three figures slipped through the windows and the front door, surrounding them in the dimly lit room. Their movements were precise, methodical. Assassins.
Mifa gritted her teeth, pulling something else from her purse. Pouring mana into it, she snarled, "Work, damn it!"
A sickening purple glow flared, momentarily blinding the intruders. But they pressed forward, undeterred.
Fear tightened around them. Hope dwindled.
Then—
BOOM!
A white blur struck the assassins outside with a force that sent dirt and debris flying. The impact sent a shockwave through the room, momentarily halting the attackers.
"Cough—Cough—!" One of the assassins hacked through the dust. "What the hell was that?!"
"I-I don’t know!" another hissed. "it looked like a spear, took out our men!"
"I can see that! I’m asking who did it! We scanned a three-kilometer radius—how did they get the drop on us?!"
"Maybe they attacked from outside the range?" one suggested hesitantly.
"That’s ridiculous! The scouts would’ve reacted the moment anything crossed into range!" the leader growled. His mind raced, a creeping dread settling in. "Unless... it moved too fast for them to react"
A chill ran down his spine.
But there was no time to think. "What are you standing around for?! Get them!"
Then a voice rang out from within the smoke, sharp and irritated.
"HEY, YOU ASSHOLES!"
The air crackled.
"You interrupted my meal."
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A FEW MINUTES AGO AT THE VILLAGE MARKET…
"WHO THE HELL ARE YOU!?" Scorn barked, his glare sharp as a dagger.
"Whoa, buddy, relax!" The man raised his hands in mock surrender. "I’m not here to start trouble. Just a visitor, like you."
Scorn's eyes narrowed. "It’s been a long time since I ran into someone from another world—and the last time wasn’t pleasant. So I’ll ask again. What do you want?"
The man hesitated for a moment, clearly not expecting Scorn’s hostility. He sighed and decided to cut to the chase.
"Whatever you're doing with Viktor, I’d stop if I were you."
Scorn’s expression remained unreadable. "And why’s that?"
"You’re young," the man said, glancing at Scorn’s masked face. "The mask hides it, but your hands and the way you speak give it away. I’m guessing you just got reborn not long ago... and now you’re probably trying to play the ‘main character’ in this world." He smirked. "Hate to break it to you, but that role’s already taken. If you want to live peacefully, you should walk away now."
Scorn scoffed. "I’m not interested in that."
"Maybe not, but whatever you’re after, you'd better stop dreaming. The way you're moving, you're about to make enemies of some very powerful people—people who don’t like nobodies stealing their spotlight." His tone grew serious. "And trust me, you don’t want them deciding you’re a problem that needs to be erased."
Scorn shrugged. "Like I said, I don’t care. I’ll do what I want, when I want. If that’s all you had to say, then get lost."
The man let out a short, dry chuckle. "You’re a stubborn one. You’ll regret this someday." He turned to leave.
"Hold on," Scorn called out. "You still haven’t told me your name. That’s rude."
The man stopped, glancing back with an amused grin. "If you survive what’s coming… I’ll tell you."
Scorn clenched his jaw. He pulled a toothpick-sized object from his mouth and poured mana into it, his spear extending to full size with a hum of power. "I suggest you tell me now."
The air in the market grew thick with tension. Onlookers shuffled back, whispering in fear.
The man smirked. "I don’t think you have time for this."
At that moment, a familiar wave of dread washed over Scorn from outside the town. His body tensed. He turned his head toward the source.
"Shit," he muttered.
Without another word, he aimed his spear and hurled it with terrifying force. The pavement beneath him cracked, a shockwave rippling through the market as the weapon shot through the air like a meteor.
Panic erupted. Townsfolk screamed, scattering in every direction.
"Call the guards!" someone yelled.
Scorn turned back to the mysterious man, but the stranger was already slipping away into the chaos.
"This isn’t over," Scorn growled.
The man’s voice drifted back, teasing yet distant. "Who’s to say?"
And then, he was gone.
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MEANWHILE, AT A LIBRARY IN TERRAMILL...
Following her encounter with Scorn at the city gate, Cynthia Gandmill continued her investigation into the recent murder cases. She sat in her office, scanning through books and records with unnatural speed—an ability granted by a magic item that allowed her to read multiple texts at once.
Her eyes narrowed as she flipped through another report. A similar case in the village of Kaltress… three months ago. South of here, 49 kilometers. No witnesses. No sounds. No murder weapon. She let out a quiet sigh, rubbing her temples.
"This is more difficult than I imagined," she muttered, leaning back in her chair. Her gaze drifted to the ceiling, and for a fleeting moment, she found herself reminiscing. The academy days—sneaking out of classes, teasing her underclassmen, especially Viktor during study hours.
"Hah… I just want to go home and sleep."
A sudden knock snapped her back to reality.
"Chief Gandmill, I have a report. May I come in?" a man's voice called from the other side of the door.
"Go ahead. Make it quick," she responded.
The door creaked open, and a man stepped inside, his face unusually pale.
"We received a request from the Gryphon’s Claw Adventurers' Guild," he said, placing a folder on her desk. "They want us to investigate a recent incident that involved a few of their well known adventurers."
Cynthia opened the folder, her eyes scanning the contents—then widening.
"This is…"
Her grip on the report tightened.