Birth of the Ruler: The Emergence of the Primordial Race

Chapter 43: Pyrrhic decision



The Heavenly God was resting his head against his right fist, his golden pupils shining with interest. "Interesting," he muttered; his tone showed a bit of curiosity and feigned surprise. The other gods looked to him, their eyes fixed and all weight leaned forward, awaiting the continuance of his words that would finally let the mystery unravel. Slowly, his left hand gesticulated with gracious, yet commanding elegance: "So, what countermeasure do you propose to prevent this?"

The God of Astronomy and Foresight, his composure cracking under the weight of divine expectation, had to force each syllable out of his throat. "Yes… the vision… but the right course of action is… to evacuate members of the Celestial Race from the Primordial World." His voice shook, as if with each word it dragged his pride behind it, battered and bleeding.

This was like a flash of thunder to the assembly, and it whipped up a storm of indignation. Voices spat out, as fire-breathing arrows, hitting at the very heart of his proposal.

"Do you mean we should cower because of your incomplete prophecy?"

"Where is your pride to even utter such disgraceful words?"

"Hey, we are not afraid! Have you forgotten? We've faced far greater threats and prevailed!"

Accusations of rebellion against divinity reverberated on gilded walls, the vehemence of it shaking the chamber. Murmurs of discontent broke like a storm: every god was voicing his defiance, and every pride fanned the brewing cacophony of disorder.

Out of this bedlam, a figure arose: a man in his mid-thirties, cool yet commanding in appearance. Clad in a flowing blue silk robe, he tucked his hands in their voluminous sleeves across his chest. His bearing was a picture of wisdom and intellect. "I think we should not decide anything without first considering this very carefully," he said in a low, even voice, calm with authority that for a moment silenced the din.

But straight away, his words met opposition. "What are you insinuating? That we should cower before such a prophecy?" another yelled out, poking the air with an accusing finger in his direction. The murmur of agreement seemed to spread like ripples on a storm-tossed sea, mocked by smiles and gestures.

The God of Wisdom and Knowledge serenely kept his countenance but replied. "That is not what I mean. Come, let us reason together. The last time we attacked, they were caught off guard, unprepared for our might. But if you were in their position, would you not learn from your mistakes? Would you not prepare, knowing what had befallen you before?" His voice was soft yet with a note that slapped pride and made thoughts flee inward.

And then, a reflective silence befell the congregation, his words hanging in the air like a sword raised but not plunged. Each god was in a tussle with the intricacies of the situation, his pride against his reason. Yet, greed and arrogance blinded many; their thoughts were unbending.

"That cannot stop us," another god said, his voice slicing through the tension. "If we succeeded once, we can succeed again!"

Again the room filled with contention, voices as sharp as tempered steel against steel, and divided the assembly- some nodded their heads in assent while others refused in rebellion. Their pride and misgivings churned around each other, divine energies flailing softly in the swirl of argument and rippled across the hall.

In an instant, a tide of oppression surged into the hall like a tidal wave. The divine energy descended on every god like a mountain in collapse-smothering their defiance, shattering their arguments. Several of the gods were thrown to their knees, their divine cores shaking under the weight; others sank into their seats as blood trickled from their noses, the crushing pressure pushing them to the edge of submission.

Then, in an instant, it was gone, and the room was silent. The gods gasped for air, their poise blown, their arrogance supplanted by a new fear. They rose, shaky, to their feet as one; the omnipotent gaze of the Heavenly God swept over them.

"Questioning your authority is folly, for there is no one above you," Stella chanted uniformly, her voice aquiver with reverberation, subordination.

"Return to your seats," the Heavenly God ordered, his voice razor-sharp and unyielding. The gods did not tarry but sank back in their chairs like chastised children. His gaze turned to the God of Astronomy and Foresight, who stood trembling, his form diminished under the weight of divine scrutiny.

"When did the denizens of the Heavens learn to cower from what is yet to be? If those in Hell should hear of this, do you understand the shame that would face us?" His voice was low, but every word pressed down like a colossal force on the trembling god. "Forgive my rudeness, Your Oneness," the god stammered, bowing deeply before stepping back in disgrace.

The Celestial Deity straightened, His voice rumbling heavy with finality. "I hereby decree this: we move not, as is and as always. Any who move contrary to this are judged by Heaven itself." The thunder of His voice boomed throughout the hall, the reverberations shaking its walls, the echo carrying into the heavens beyond. Outside, even the skies seemed to answer as a bolt of lightning tore across the clouds, a solemn attestation to the rightness of His authority.

"To question your authority is folly, for there is none above you!" the assembly parroted as one voice, their chorus no different from a heavenly subjugation.

With smooth movement, the Heavenly God stood from his golden throne and flowed down the steps with movements that spoke volumes of solid, unyielding power. "God of Wisdom and Knowledge," he called, his voice modulated yet commanding, "attend me in my chamber."

"Yes, as you wish," the god replied with a deep bow.

A little while later, in the chamber.

The crystalline walls of the room glittered, laced with golden patterns, the designs like heavenly rivers. In the middle of the room was a transparent table, pulsating faintly with the energy of an ancient relic. The Heavenly God lay on a feather-soft bed, propping his head on his right fist as if deep in thought.

"Come in," he said, his voice barely above a whisper and resounding softly within the confines of the room. The door opened and there appeared in its frame the God of Wisdom and Knowledge, stepping inside and bowing deep as the door shut noiselessly behind him.

"I am here as you summoned me, Your Oneness," the god said, measured, his head still bent low to show respect.

"Sit," the Heavenly God instructed, gesturing toward a seat. The god obeyed without hesitation, settling himself with careful precision.

The Heavenly God's golden eyes met his briefly, piercing through his composure. "What do you think of today's report?" His words, though calm, carried an unexpected weight, bending the God of Wisdom and Knowledge's confidence like a mighty gale.

For a moment, the god was taken aback, his eyes widening slightly before he looked down, collecting himself. The room fell into an uneasy silence, the air heavy with unspoken tension.

"Not sure what you mean, Your Oneness," he finally replied, his voice cautious, redirecting the question in an attempt to avoid overstepping.

The gaze of the Heavenly God didn't waver from him. "From your actions today, it is crystal clear we both harbor the same suspicion as to who is behind this so-called secret organization," he said with a calmness like an unruffled ocean, but as sharp as a knife at the ready.

A month had gone by since the fateful decision was made. In the primordial world, a few meters west of the Nihilith clan, Nyxander sat atop a towering hill, his imposing figure still as stone. His legs crossed, his eyes closed to deep concentration, waves of essentia energy radiated from him. Energy was weaving into the tapestry of surrounding void-space, a three-kilometer radius of intricate web, a silent sentinel waiting to snare its prey like some spider perched at the heart of its web.

Behind him, Vacuros stood as an implacable sentinel, his arms folded tightly across his chest, standing straight and alert. He moved at a measured pace, back and forth, in the fashion of a predator held in captivity. His eyes scanned keenly around them; his presence shield-like to any threat from the outside. The air was thick with patience around them.

As time dragged on, doubt seeped in to sting at Nyxander. His resolution faltered, and he began to withdraw the web, its shining tendrils dragging slowly back. Then, just at the moment when he had conceded, his awareness leapt into life: something moved upon his web, no more than a ripple that might have crossed still water. The disturbance had both purpose and motion, slicing through his strands of energy like some predator pursuing prey that was not in the least aware of being hunted.

Nyxander's eyes flashed open, their brilliance tearing through the dark vacuum. In one fluid motion, he rose to his feet; his towering form cast a long shadow in the fading light. "Hahaha!" he said, his laughter sharp and triumphant, as if the crack of thunder was ringing out. "Finally! It's finally paid off!" His voice betrayed the fervor of victory finally gained.

He had suddenly clapped his right fist into his left palm with a burst of excitement, the force enough to send a subtle shockwave through the air, which rippled and blew the loose dust and debris on the hilltop. His body was full of anticipation, and the air around him was trembling with his energy. "It's now or never!" he exclaimed; resolution brimming over in his tone.

Vacuros looked at him with an expression of curiosity and skepticism, his eyes, sharp as glass, following Nyxander's every move as if barely concealing the silent questions brewing in his mind-to him, Nyxander's sudden burst of exhilaration seemed both alien and unnerving.

As the hilltop pulsed with anticipation, the moment thickened like the calm before a storm-the world holding its breath as fate prepared to play its hand.


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