God Of Velmoryn [ LitRPG, Progression, High Fantasy ]

I had expected something to crawl out of the portal - beasts, perhaps, or cloaked figures with eyes stitched shut. Instead, the scout lunged for it.

The basilisk reacted immediately, launching forward with the full force of its coiled body, but it stopped just short of crossing into the shimmer. Something about the energy radiating from the portal gave it pause. It wasn't fear, more like a primal recognition that whatever magic lingered within that breach was not meant to be trifled with. The creature let out a shriek, frustrated, as the scout vanished into the swirling light. The reflection of the portal faded from its dark red scales, and when the last glimmer of violet energy was gone, it turned its head away without hesitation.

It didn't waste time mourning the escape or cursing the hesitation. The hunt resumed.

By then, most of the Velmoryns had already scattered, those who could still stand, anyway. Only three remained behind, trying to lift Cellia to her feet and drag her toward safety. They moved slowly, hindered by her condition, but the basilisk had no intention of letting them escape.

By the time Cellia's convulsions eased, after several potions were poured down her throat by her followers, the basilisk had already closed the distance, its crimson eyes gauging their levels. It still saw Cellia as one with the heaviest mana signature, the most potential for damage. The others barely registered. To a creature that hunted varnoks and feasted on them, even a cluster of Silver-ranked Velmoryns held no real weight.

It launched forward, stretching its long body as it aimed straight for Cellia. A red barrier flashed mid-air, cast hastily by one of the mages, a desperate attempt to halt its charge. The impact was immediate, though the basilisk's horns shattered the construct like it was glass, sending shards of magical energy spiraling outward in a bright arc of crimson light before they dissipated.

"Cellia, run!" a burly Velmoryn shouted, positioning himself between her and the basilisk. His stance was firm, shield braced, and axe gripped. He was the same one who had stood by her during the feast, when she had transferred the damage she had taken. Whether the mana backlash couldn't be passed to another, or whether it had simply left her unable to use her magic at all, she hadn't cast a single spell since the attack began.

"Please, save yourself. I'll buy as much time as I can."

Cellia didn't argue. She didn't say a word. She simply turned and ran.

The burly Velmoryn's gaze briefly tracked her, observing her back gently. Then turned to the basilisk, resolve flashing behind his silver, cold eyes.

But the basilisk barely acknowledged his presence.

It slid past him, ignoring the man completely. That is, until he charged at the giant beast.

"You will have to defeat me first!" he yelled.

All it took was a swat of the basilisk's tail. The thick, scaled appendage struck him with such force that his body lifted from the ground and crashed into the base of a nearby tree. His limbs folded unnaturally, crushed on impact. Blood pooled quickly beneath the bark, painting the snow.

His sacrifice had bought no more than a fraction of a second.

The basilisk quickly reached one of the fleeing mages. It lunged, jaws snapping closed like a guillotine. Bone, muscle, and whatever she wore tore apart with ease. The mage's scream didn't last long enough to echo as its body hit the ground, now split into two.

Cellia stopped running.

She turned slowly, her chest rising and falling in shallow, uneven breaths. Her eyes, full of despair, focused on the one mage still with her, the only one who hadn't abandoned her.

"The monster wants me," she said hoarsely. "Try fleeing toward our tribe."

The words seemed to catch in her throat as she spoke them. When the words 'our tribe' left her lips, a sigh escaped her mouth, which carried more than bitterness. There was regret in that sound. Maybe even shame.

She must have realized.

Even if she reached the Blue Tribe alive, they would never see her as one of their own. She had sold out her people, willing to sacrifice her tribe for her own gain, and in doing so had become something no one ever trusts - a traitor. Even enemies despise those who turn on their own.

She must have understood that by now.

But that didn't mean she was going to give up.

Cellia reached into her Veilspace, fingers trembling. A moment later, she drew out a staff - long, blackened wood crowned with a small, deer-like skull. It was delicate, almost fragile-looking. The empty eye sockets began to glow the instant her mana touched them, a sickly green light blooming to life within the hollows as she forced her energy into the artifact.

This must be her last trump card.

The spell began to form as a magical orb started to hover in front of her, growing with each pulse of mana. It was overwhelming. Not because of its size or raw power alone, but because of the aura it radiated. The kind of magic that left a foul taste at the back of the throat. The orb glowed with a shade of green that tasted like rot. Or at least, that's how the basilisk perceived it.

You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

But despite that, it was not bothered, and neither was I.

The dark green sphere surged forward, tearing across the snow toward the basilisk just as Cellia's knees buckled. She didn't catch herself. The last of her mana was gone. Now it was simple - either the spell killed the beast, or she would become its prey.

The emerald glow washed over the basilisk, blanketing the clearing in green fire. Snow hissed and blackened where the blood had smeared before. Trees, still wrapped in their winter coats, began to lose color as the blast carved their trunks hollow. The field was eerily quiet - ruined, steaming, covered in red slush and dismembered limbs, all tinted green by the lingering glow.

I remained unfazed, watching.

[Manarend reduced magical damage to 1%!]

The slithered forward, unharmed. Not even slowed. Its great scales dragged across the blackened snow without effort, eyes fixed ahead.

When I first shaped it, the creature had been Silver Rank. A hunter by design, able to track heat, divine energy, and gauge the strength of anything it stalked. Its body was already monstrous, but it was the venom that made it lethal. The venom had allowed it to hunt varnoks with ease. And after devouring dozens, it rose to Gold Rank, gaining a new passive skill - Manarend. It granted the basilisk 99% magical damage negation.

Cellia stared at the basilisk a moment longer. Then she laughed.

It started low, a dry breath through bloodied lips, but it grew louder. Hysterical. Unchecked.

"Haha… even that couldn't kill you?" Her voice broke. "Haha… I never thought I'd die more pathetically than my father…"

She had given up. She wouldn't fight anymore, even if she could. The laugh dragged on, loud and maniacal, until the basilisk silenced her. Its head snapped forward, faster than she could react, and her body folded as it tore clean through her throat. The basilisk straightened, swallowing the head and watching the body in front of it as blood sprayed across the snow, painting it red.

The basilisk clearly enjoyed the taste of Cellia's flesh and wanted to feast on her, but I did not share its appetite.

I didn't mind if it feasted on other Velomoryns' corpses, but Cellia's body held value. I knew that she carried an artifact that allowed her to access the Veilspace. Whatever she stored inside - potions, tools, artifacts… would now serve my tribe. But more than that, I needed the yellow stone she had been tasked to deliver to the Blue Tribe.

My will pressed into the basilisk's mind as I focused on the connection we shared. It stopped, pulled back from the corpse, and turned toward fresh prey without any protest.

Then I shifted my focus again, reaching for the kelvarin. They were too weak to be useful in the battle, but strong enough to carry what remained of Cellia. I would have Avenor examine her and retrieve everything stored in her veilspace. In situations like this, he was the obvious choice. Most of my believers would've been dejected to learn I had killed Cellia and her followers after letting them go, but Avenor wouldn't have cared. Nor would he have minded that the High Father had removed a threat using slightly underhanded methods. There was no point in shaming a tool for being sharp.

I hope the birds will come before the basilisk becomes too hungry to lose control.

Even if the beast obeyed me, it was still a beast. Hunger had a strong grip on what little intelligence it possessed. I suspected that if it grew too starved, instinct would take over, and it wouldn't be able to restrain itself from snacking on Cellia's corpse.

Unfortunately, the kelvarin were too far. It would take them days to reach the clearing. Until then, I might have to trick some poor animal into wandering close enough to feed the basilisk.

…

The tribe was lively.

The Velmoryns moved with cheerful expressions, planting carved wooden sticks, shaped like torches, a few steps out from the crimson guardian's base, forming a wide circle.

"Why do you need these?" Karla sat beside Tekla on a nearby log, trying to copy what she did.

"It's called a palamri," Tekla chuckled, weaving another layer of crimson rope around the crown of the carved tree club. It looked like a ceremonial torch, though it was far too extravagant to be burnt. "It's one of our traditions. Today is the last day of the sun. After tomorrow, there will be only night for two whole months. So we celebrate its final beams, and pray to the spirits to let us pass the winter in peace."

Tekla had returned that morning, and without pause had taken the lead in preparing the ritual. The Velmoryns treated the occasion with deep importance, so much that Tekla had apologized to Karla and asked her to wait one more day before they spoke about… well, me.

I should probably stop this. But does it truly harm my image? They aren't worshipping the sun or those spirits…

"Priestess, may I ask you something?" Karla had a habit of softening her questions that way; especially with Tekla, whom she clearly liked, and to whom she showed as much respect as she could.

"Of course," Tekla responded with a warm smile. "But if it's something that needs the Lord's guidance, please wait until tomorrow. As Priestess, I have to lead this rite… Unfortunately, I barely made it in time and have so much to do… On the way back, we sensed a strong magical aura and had to go around." She sighed, momentarily letting down her ethereal image, she started shaping since becoming the Priestess.

"No, nothing that serious," Karla smiled, glancing at the formation of sticks being planted across the snow before beginning to wrap red rope around her own palamri. "But why do you pray to spirits? In the past, I've heard that some… less civilized races worship minor deities because they can't attract the attention of true gods. But you all serve the God of Velmoryn. Why turn to spirits at all?"

Tekla's hands stopped. She froze.

"High Father," her shaking voice reached me. "I never thought… I never realized the whole ritual could be blasphemy. We only did it because the Goddess stopped responding. We had to seek something. Even a moment of comfort… something to help us endure. And the spirits… they answered."

Her voice trembled. Each word came slower than the last, weighed down with shame. She was pleading. If Karla hadn't been beside her, I was certain Tekla would've dropped to her knees, right then and there. I could feel the raw panic, the sorrow clawing its way to her heart.

But Tekla's words weren't what unsettled me.

First, Karla mentions minor deities… and now Tekla claims the spirits answered them?

I was shocked. But more than that, I was intrigued.

Now I want to see what happens during this ritual…