NOVEL NEXT Chapter 840: Systematic Take Over
Taking over was a lot less stressful than he had expected. Surprisingly, Damon pulled it off.
Now, however, he faced a different problem.
Logistics.
Logistics was a pain, especially when most of his goods were being smuggled through unofficial channels he had quietly created for himself. Channels that slipped beneath the notice of the Chained and bypassed most of Yari entirely.
Damon had once been part of Quick Hand in his youth, and that meant he had plenty of experience with logistics, especially the illegal kind. To that end, he had already established a supply network that appeared to be nothing more than surface-level trade, while in reality it threaded straight through restricted zones and unregulated districts.
What he was smuggling was simple.
Naturally it was the basics and essentials, food, water, mana cores, even potions.
As those goods moved, so did Lazarak's faith.
It spread through the slums alongside carefully crafted propaganda, whispered sermons, symbols etched into walls, quiet gatherings in broken homes.
Reaching unofficially to the ones in the inner city even without any intentional move from Damon.
And what propaganda could be more effective than purist, supremacist and racist hatred disguised as religion?
It was purist because he isolated a single group and elevated them above all others.
It was supremacist because that purity gave them a reason to feel superior.
And it was racist because it required hatred cold, deliberate hatred toward an entire race, branding them as lesser beings.
Was it good?
No.
Was it effective?
Absolutely.
Did it benefit Damon and further his long-term agenda?
Without question.
"Staying on the agenda is our top priority."
Damon leaned back against his throne, one leg crossing over the other as a hooded cult follower knelt before him and delivered his report.
"My lord," the man said, head bowed, voice steady. "We have now occupied most of Grinding Gate and integrated the population into the belief. According to our analysts, the lower-realm scums authorities may soon notice discrepancies mana core shortages, decreased sickness, and abnormal death rates in the area."
He hesitated, then added carefully, "This anomaly may draw attention."
Damon lifted one shoulder in a lazy shrug, his expression unbothered.
"Yes, I'm aware. They aren't aware yet. For now, I believe it's time to move toward the inner city."
The man bowed deeply and withdrew.
Damon exhaled slowly as the faint sound of approaching footsteps echoed through the chamber light and uneven.
When he turned, Lazarak stood there.
The god now wore the form of a ten-year-old boy. His hair was disheveled, his skin pale, dark shadows clinging beneath tired eyes.
"At this rate…" Lazarak said quietly, "they'll find out in a few weeks. Maybe days, depending on their competence."
Damon shook his head once.
"No. Three days at most. That's when they notice. But they won't understand the extent of our influence."
He crossed his arms.
"At worst, they'll label it an anomaly and send Chainbearers to crush it. They'll kill an estimated twelve thousand people across various districts of the Grinding Gate."
He paused.
"And we'll let them."
Lazarak pressed his lips together, his small hands clenching at his sides.
"Isn't there another way?" he asked. "Or… can we stop this?"
Damon shook his head again, slower this time.
"No. Not without risking total annihilation. Grinding Gate holds sixteen million people. Anything else risks all of them."
Lazarak drew a shaky breath and closed his eyes.
"Are you asking me to choose between two evils?"
"I'm not asking you to do anything," Damon replied calmly. "This is my choice. Not yours."
Lazarak lowered his head slightly.
"Yes. But it is also my choice to do nothing," he said quietly. "In that sense, I'm complicit. I want the best outcome but I can't expect to keep my hands clean."
He lifted his gaze, eyes steady now.
"So hear this."
"Do what is necessary for victory. I will share the sin, the shame, and the glory with you. You are not my weapon… and I cannot hide behind your mercy forever."
Damon rested his chin against his hand, fingers tapping once.
"Outrage."
He clasped his hands together.
"I want outrage. I want a fire that can't be smothered. I want them to watch their peers, friends, family, people they suffered beside, die at the hands of the Chained."
His eyes darkened.
"With that, Lazarak, everything falls into place."
He could already see it, the streets soaked in blood, flames licking stone, chaos tearing the city apart.
Damon rose from his throne.
"For centuries, the Chained kept the prisoners obedient, fearful, hopeless," he said. "That balance is gone. Now there's an equal force on the other side."
He turned to Lazarak, a thin smile cutting across his face, sharp enough to look almost demonic. For a moment, Lazarak thought he saw horns hidden beneath Damon's hair.
"We… we've completed preparations for the creation of your next shadow," Lazarak said, his voice strained as he held back anguish. "I don't know if it will work. If we fail, the cocoon will be destroyed."
"And if we succeed," Damon said flatly, "I gain a powerful shadow."
Lazarak turned away, his steps slow.
"I'm sorry it has to be like this, Lazarak," Damon said behind him.
He almost never apologized.
Yet now, he had.
"It must pain you, to lose believers. As a god, you must feel like you failed them."
Lazarak clenched his fists, then spoke, repeating Damon's words back to him.
"If there is an all-powerful god, then he is cruel. And if he is kind, then he is weak."
He inhaled slowly.
"I am weak. I cannot be anyone's savior. I don't hate that this choice had to be made… I hate that I am weak enough that it had to be."
Damon stepped forward, stopping beside him.
"Yes," he said quietly. "But people often mistake their own evil for an act of god and their success as their own ingenuity. We shouldn't blame gods for everything when our own choices led us here."
He turned away.
His footsteps echoed softly as he vanished into the darkness.