NOVEL NEXT Chapter 28: Mayhem
“Alright, problem solved. Maybe I’ll have time to accompany those two sisters to their academy... I can’t remember its name; I’ll ask them later,” Zandor thought as he bid farewell to his guardians and shot off like a silver bolt with violet edges.
The air around Sylvan vibrated with the residual energy of Zandor’s aura. The primordials remaining in the temple exchanged furtive glances, processing the instructions they had just received. Dargle was the first to rise, his face still tense with embarrassment and frustration. His lord's words had struck deep: his power had not been stolen, only sealed, and even more humiliating was the fact that they depended on the grace of their Master and Lord Zandor to handle the situation.
“Did you hear that, my comrades?” Dargle murmured, breaking the silence as he passed by her. “It’s our turn to clean up this mess.”
Sylvan nodded slowly, her mind still reeling from the abrupt awakening and the feeling of vulnerability that reminded her they had failed. The weight of responsibility fell upon everyone present, and Zandor's words echoed in her head: If you want to rise to the top, you must earn it. The other primordials, one by one, began to leave the temple, allowing the air to regain its stillness. Sylvan lingered a bit longer; after all, they were in her temple. She stayed, contemplating the shadows stretching across the shattered altar. For the first time in millennia, she felt a sensation she hadn’t experienced since her creation: doubt.
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Meanwhile, on the continent of Meravé, the consequences of Zandor's appearance and the summoning of the guardian spirits were already being felt in the capitals of the kingdoms. The storms and earthquakes shaking the region caused panic among the populations, but it was the sudden weakening of the so-called "new gods" that created the greatest uproar. In temples throughout the lands, the priests and high priests of these newly ascended deities fell to their knees, their powers inexplicably wavering.
In the palace of Ishtar, Queen Lira watched from her throne, her jaw clenched and her eyes fixed on the horizon. A messenger had arrived moments earlier with disturbing news: three of the high priests from her realm had lost access to much of their magical arsenal related to their deities. This was impossible, or at least, that’s what she had thought.
“Your Majesty,” said one of her advisors, an older man in robes adorned with arcane symbols, “we have lost contact with the priests in the east. And the oracles... they simply have stopped seeing. I cannot explain it.”
Lira stood abruptly, her eyes blazing with anger and fear. “What is happening, Zalasar? Are we under attack? Who or what has the power to strip our gods?”
Before Zalasar could respond, a tremor shook the throne room, and a dark cloud began to form on the palace ceiling, swirling slowly like an ominous portent. From it came a humanoid entity with pronounced wounds; Queen Elira and her advisors were stunned, for the one approaching them, practically falling, was their "God."
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The “god” fell into one of the inner gardens of the Verdant Palace. Both the Queen and her guards and advisors hurried to the scene, traversing doors and halls until they reached the garden. There they saw a noticeable crater, from which limped a barbaric-looking man, nearly 2 meters tall, with a body well-toned and muscles like steel. He was covered in wounds as if he had gone through a hurricane of blades. Clutching an arm that hung by a few strips of flesh, he made his way toward the shadow of a nearby tree, where he leaned and sat down. He was indifferent to everything—the place he was in or the humanoids watching him in disbelief.
“Is that... our god Aldrion?” murmured a young priest who was among the Queen's group. “It can't be... he is invincible.”
The air felt heavy in the inner garden of the palace. Queen Lira kept her gaze fixed on the fallen "god." That being, who had dominated their lands and skies, now lay injured, defeated. The barbaric god gritted his teeth; each breath was a reminder of the pain inflicted upon him, of the humiliation suffered.
“Urgh, if you have something to ask, do it now,” said the earthly god, his voice barely audible but laden with dull resentment. He could not hide the weariness on his face. The memories of the battle against that entity... that being who had defeated him still burned in his mind.
Queen Lira could not move. She could not articulate the words. A chill ran down her spine. How was it possible that a god—her god—had been reduced to this? The man before her, once imposing and feared, was now nothing more than a shadow of what he used to be.
“Who did this to you?” she finally asked, her voice barely hiding the tremor. “What enemy can wound a god?”
The "god" let out a bitter laugh, one that echoed through the palace walls like the roar of a storm. He brought his hand to the wounds that were still bleeding slowly. His body, usually capable of healing quickly, did not respond as it once did.
“That's... not an enemy you should challenge. It's not like us. It’s not of this world,” he whispered with difficulty, his gaze lost on the ground. “It’s a true god. And it wasn't a confrontation... it was an execution.”
His words fell like lead on Lira's heart. The council, which until now had kept its distance, could not help but exchange nervous glances. Each of them knew what this meant: if a being of such power existed, then everything they believed about their gods was false, or at least, incomplete.
“Majesty, we cannot allow the kingdom to fall into chaos,” said Zalasar, the oldest advisor, his face pale. “If this news spreads, faith in the gods who have protected us will crumble. We must act.”
Lira did not respond. Her mind was caught in a whirlwind of thoughts. What would they do now? How could they protect themselves from such a magnitude of threat? And what did this mean for her kingdom, for her, for the power she had inherited?
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The earthly god let out a heavy sigh. It seemed that every word he spoke cost him more and more effort.
“I don't care what you do. Fight, flee, worship whoever you want. The only thing I know is that if you do not prepare, that being will tear apart everything you have built. It didn't come here by accident. There’s something it came to seek... and it destroyed me to retrieve it.”
A cloud of silence fell over everyone. No one dared to interrupt the confession of the defeated god.
“Majesty,” Zalasar finally whispered, his voice heavy with concern. “If he... if that being is still in this world, we must be prepared. We must learn more about him. If we can understand his purpose, perhaps we can avoid his wrath.”
Lira nodded slowly. He was right. Despair was not an option. If that being had appeared, it was for a reason. And if they did not understand what that reason was, they could face a disaster far greater.
“I humbly ask you to tell us what that Being was seeking, my lord Aldrion,” Queen Lira spoke softly as she bowed before her “god.” ‘Even though he is wounded, he is still capable of destroying my kingdom in a blink; it’s better not to provoke him,’ Lira thought as she awaited the response.
“You are a cold woman, having such thoughts in the presence of a god. I would have normally incinerated you, but I must conserve energy. I will tell you what he came to seek: the cores of the Primordial Spirits that I defeated 2400 years ago. He is their lord and creator,” spoke the earthly god Aldrion as he attempted to stand.
“Do you know anything more about him? Anything that might help us?” asked the queen, turning her attention back to the wounded god.
He let out a rough cough, followed by a choked laugh.
“Just this: his name doesn’t matter because there is no one who can pronounce it without the very earth trembling beneath their feet. And if you dare to challenge him, make sure your grave is ready. Because that... that being shows no mercy.”
Lira swallowed hard, but before she could respond, the god fell to his side, unconscious from blood loss. The guards and healers rushed to attend to him, but they knew that the wounds he had suffered were not simply physical; he had been wounded in his very divine essence.
The Verdant Palace fell into chaos. Outside, the wind swept the dark clouds, and in every corner of the city, fear began to take hold. The citizens felt on their skin the oppression of something greater than themselves. The skies, once blessed by their gods, now seemed empty, indifferent.
Queen Lira turned on her heels and, without saying a word, headed back into the palace, followed by her council. There were many decisions to make and very little time to do so.
“Prepare yourselves,” she said, her voice sharp as a sword. “We will discover who that being is and why he is in our world. If the earthly gods cannot stop him... we will find another way.”
The advisors nodded, with hope barely clinging to the words of their queen. But deep down in their hearts, they knew something had changed forever. A new power had manifested in the world, and if they were not careful, it would be the last thing they would see.