Awakening in The World of Gods

The battlefield was a symphony of chaos and dread. From the shattered remains of the second tower emerged a monstrous abomination, a towering nightmare born of corrupted mana. Its grotesque body writhed with unnatural energy, limbs twisting and snaking as if alive with a malevolent will of their own. The air around it shimmered ominously, the creature feeding hungrily on the surrounding mana, its form swelling larger and more terrifying with each passing moment.

The soldiers held their ground, though their hands trembled against their weapons. Fear crept into their hearts like a venomous whisper, threatening to shatter their resolve. Yet, they stood firm, their eyes locked on the monstrous foe, a mixture of determination and terror etched into their faces. The creature's guttural growls reverberated across the battlefield, each sound a reminder of the monstrous power they now faced.

From the war Camp room, the king watched the unfolding carnage on a projection screen. His usually composed face was marked with worry. The creature was tearing through defenses with terrifying ease, its corrupted mana devouring everything in its path.

"They're not even trying to hold back," he muttered under his breath, the words laced with frustration and dread.

The room fell silent, save for the faint hum of the communication devices. The officers and advisors around him exchanged uneasy glances. No one dared to speak, all waiting for the king to issue an order. With a sharp breath, he straightened and said firmly, "Hold your ground. Reinforcements are on the way. We cannot let this abomination push further into the kingdom."

Before the king's words could fully settle, the ground began to tremble as if the very earth was holding its breath. The air grew heavy, vibrating with an intense pressure that sent shivers down the spines of those present. Then, a booming voice, deep and commanding, cut through the cacophony of battle like a blade.

"Flames of Hell… Begin!"

The battlefield seemed to pause, as though the world itself obeyed the voice's decree. A massive magic circle materialized beneath the monstrous creature, sprawling out in a breathtakingly intricate design. Its symbols glowed an eerie crimson, pulsating with raw, destructive power. The runes shimmered, their patterns shifting like living entities, drawing the soldiers' gazes even in the midst of their terror.

In a split second, the magic circle activated. Flames erupted from its core, not wild and chaotic but unnervingly precise, wrapping around the creature in a blazing cocoon of destruction. These were no ordinary flames—they shimmered with a strange, hellish hue, as though they were alive, twisting and coiling like serpents with a singular purpose: obliteration.

The beast let out a guttural, ear-splitting roar that reverberated through the battlefield, shaking the ground and echoing in the hearts of the soldiers. Its grotesque form writhed and contorted in agony, limbs flailing as the flames penetrated its corrupted body, searing it from the inside out. The creature's shadow danced violently against the walls of the second tower, a monstrous silhouette consumed by fiery retribution.

And then came the climax. With a deafening roar that seemed to rend the heavens, the beast's body exploded in a devastating burst of fire and dark energy. The shockwave tore through the battlefield, sending soldiers and debris flying. Flames surged outward, scorching the earth in concentric rings before dying down, leaving behind only ash and smoldering ruin where the creature had stood.

As the thick smoke began to dissipate, an eerie silence fell over the battlefield. Soldiers who had been bracing for death now stood frozen, their weapons slack in their hands and their eyes wide with disbelief.

What just happened?

The air was still heavy with heat, the ground littered with embers. For a moment, it seemed as though the world itself was holding its breath, unsure whether to celebrate or tremble at the power that had just been unleashed.

From the shadows of the castle walls, an elderly man stepped forward, his long white beard swaying gently in the wind. His eyes sparkled with amusement as he surveyed the aftermath of his spell. He began to chuckle softly, the sound carrying across the stunned silence of the battlefield.

The king turned, his initial shock giving way to a weary smile. "You've got to be kidding me," he muttered before addressing the figure. "Ryan, you old coot! What are you doing here? Weren't you napping somewhere?"

The old man scratched his chin, his expression nonchalant. "I was," he replied, his voice calm and measured. "But a cockroach decided to ruin it."

The king couldn't help but laugh. "A cockroach, huh? That's one way to describe an S-class abomination."

The soldiers nearby exchanged hushed whispers, their awe evident.

"Did you see that? Who is that old man?" one of them asked, his voice trembling.

Another soldier answered, barely able to contain his excitement. "That's Ryan—the legendary sage! He's said to be a master of magic, someone who's surpassed even the gods themselves. Some say he's lived for over 150 years!"

Ryan ignored the murmurs, his sharp gaze locked on the remains of the creature. To everyone's horror, the bubbling, grotesque flesh began to move again, trying to reassemble itself.

Ryan clicked his tongue in irritation. "Persistent little pest, aren't you?" He raised his hand, a calm yet deadly energy gathering at his fingertips. With a flick of his wrist, a vortex of swirling magic appeared above the creature's remains, pulling the corrupted mana into a glowing sphere.

"Dimensional Magic: Banishment!" Ryan declared, his voice echoing with finality. The sphere vanished into thin air, its dark energy sent hurtling into another dimension, far beyond the reach of mortal hands.

Satisfied, Ryan dusted his hands as if he had just finished a minor chore. "There. That should keep it from crawling back anytime soon."

The king approached him, his expression a mixture of relief and admiration. "Ryan… I don't know what we'd do without you."

Ryan smirked, though his eyes carried a hint of unease. "Well, don't get too comfortable. That thing was just the appetizer. There's something far more dangerous brewing in the west."

The king frowned. "The west? What are you talking about?"

Ryan's gaze grew distant, his voice low. "An aura—one so powerful it makes my skin crawl. It's not just dark magic. It's something… ancient. Something that shouldn't exist in this world."

The king's face paled as realization dawned on him. "You're talking about Tiara."

Ryan's expression shifted to shock. "Tiara…? You mean Tiara, the corrupted demi-god?" His voice dropped to a murmur. "That… complicates things."

The king nodded gravely. "She's the one leading this entire assault. If we can't stop her…"

Ryan cut him off with a raised hand. "I get it. No need to finish that thought." He sighed deeply, running a hand through his beard. "You really know how to ruin a man's retirement, Your Majesty."

The king allowed himself a faint smile. "If anyone can stop her, it's you."

Ryan raised an eyebrow, glancing around as if to ensure the king was really speaking to him. "Are you… talking about me?" He gave a bemused chuckle.

But the king's gaze hardened. "I'm serious, Ryan."

A silence settled between them, filled only by the distant sounds of battle. Ryan's expression grew pensive. "People think I hold the power of gods," he said quietly. "But here's the truth—no one's ever seen a real god."

The sage's gaze turned steely as he looked to the battlefield, a glimmer of determination in his eyes. "Let's find out if they're right… or wrong."