The Guardian gods-Chapter 573

Rattan pressed on, the words forming a question he desperately needed answered. "Have you accounted for the... unforeseen consequences, Lord Kaelen?" Rattan swallowed, the question hanging heavy in the air. "Merging a living being with active Abyss corruption, even in a controlled manner... there’s no telling what it might do to their minds, their very essence. The physical changes, too, could be unpredictable. What if the integration accelerates unexpectedly? What if they become... something else entirely, before the month is up? What safeguards do we have against these soldiers turning into monstrous abominations, indistinguishable from the very demons we fight?"

Kaelen finally turned his gaze to Rattan, his expression as unyielding as forged steel. "The risks are substantial, Rattan. I won’t deny that. We are, in essence, creating controlled abominations. But what are the alternatives?" He paused, letting the silence hang heavy, filled with the distant sounds of the ongoing, desperate battle. "Allowing the constant psychic barrage to break our forces? Watching our numbers dwindle until we’re overwhelmed by sheer attrition? Or perhaps, simply giving up and waiting for the Abyss to swallow us whole?"

He leaned forward, his voice dropping slightly, though still devoid of warmth. "My calculations indicate a high probability of mental degradation and physical mutation. Some will likely be lost completely, their minds consumed, their forms twisted beyond recognition. That is the cost of this gamble. As for safeguards," he continued, a faint, almost imperceptible flicker in his eyes, "the interface is designed to provide a degree of control, to allow for the guidance of corruption, not its absolute prevention. It will be a constant, brutal struggle for each soldier to maintain their sanity, themselves."

"We will monitor them," Kaelen stated, his voice flat with grim resolve. "Closely. Any soldier showing signs of accelerated, irreversible integration will be... contained. We cannot afford loose variables on a battlefield where the stakes are this high. This is not a perfect solution, Rattan. It’s a desperate one. But it offers us a chance to fight back, to turn the very essence of the Abyss against itself, even if only for a short time."

He then looked at Rattan, a clear, direct command in his gaze. "Your task is to refine this ’conduit’ idea, to maximize the duration of this controlled corruption. Every extra day we gain is a day closer to victory. Do you understand the urgency?"

With the grim understanding solidified, Kaelen and Rattan plunged into the daunting task. Days bled into weeks as the tent became a crucible of desperate innovation. Rattan, driven by a complex mix of self-preservation, a desire for his people’s ascendancy, and a strange, nascent respect for Kaelen’s ruthless pragmatism, poured over blueprints. His fingers flew, sketching intricate runic patterns designed to channel the Abyss’s corruption, to extend the fragile window of controlled integration. Kaelen, ever the calculating machine, provided constant feedback, his tech-core crunching data on material tolerances, biological responses, and energy fluctuations. The air in the tent hummed with the focused intensity of their work, a stark contrast to the shifting tides outside.

Meanwhile Back in the abyss when the sun came up, it illuminated not a new day, but the devastating aftermath of a battle between two god-level beings. Vorenza and the mage had brought their clash to a cataclysmic end within Vorenza’s own territory. The very landscape was irrevocably scarred: the land was torn apart, shattered, and even the sky above was fractured, raining down shards of crystal. Great chasms had been carved into the earth, and not a single demon remained; they had wisely fled the territory to escape the divine conflict.

At the epicenter, where Vorenza’s castle once stood, her colossal demonic form remained. A massive crystal sword, stained with her own vibrant purple blood, pierced through her. Pieces of her legs were missing, and she was clearly grievously wounded. Yet, a chilling triumph radiated from her. In her hand, she clutched the form of the goblin mage, a testament to her victory. Vorenza’s gamble had paid off; she now held the soul of a sixth-tier being.

Vorenza’s greatest satisfaction didn’t come from her victory alone, but from the abyss’s own ecstatic reaction. She could feel it, an undeniable resonance echoing through every demon in that layer of the abyss. The very ground, the fractured sky, the shattered remnants of her domain and the mage’s, all hummed with a palpable joy and entertainment that pleased the abyss to its core.

This wasn’t favoritism; it was simply the rule of the abyss. For bringing such a spectacle, the victor would be rewarded. Had the mage triumphed against Vorenza, her reward would have been even greater, for the abyss would have deemed it a more impressive feat – "She fought against all odds and won," it would declare, and such a victory demanded a superior prize.

Unlike the mortal realms, where clashes between god-level beings are avoided due to the risk of damage to innocent living creatures of a world and its inhabitant which provokes the intervention of the Judges, the abyss welcomes such destruction. It thrives on the chaos and power unleashed, finding profound entertainment in the raw might of its inhabitants.

For the abyss, a clash between two god-level beings isn’t a disaster to be averted, but a grand performance, a feast for its senses. The shattering of land, the fracturing of the sky, the very essence of domains tearing at each other – these are not wounds, but exhilarating expressions of power that ripple through its being like a wave of pure ecstasy. The fleeing demons, the obliteration of structures, the very blood spilled, all contribute to this profound entertainment.

This is why it’s rewards are not based on righteousness or alliance, but on the sheer magnitude of the power displayed and the thrill it experiences. Vorenza’s victory, born from a desperate gamble and immense personal cost, delivered a powerful surge of satisfaction to the abyss. But a triumph against truly overwhelming odds, like the mage winning against the established power of Vorenza, would have been a narrative of even greater appeal, a crescendo of unexpected power, and thus, merited a grander boon. ƒгeewebnovёl_com

The abyss is a cosmic gladiator arena, perpetually hungry for the next epic showdown. It encourages, even subtly manipulates, its most potent inhabitants to engage in these devastating conflicts. The intervention of "Judges" or concerns about collateral damage are alien concepts to it. The more destruction, the more raw power unleashed, the more it revels. Its greatest fear is stagnation, a quietude that would dim its own vibrant, chaotic existence.

Vorenza gritted her teeth, a guttural roar escaping her as she ripped the crystal sword from her body, sending it clattering across the shattered landscape. With the blade discarded, she brought the shimmering essence of the mage’s soul to her lips, a predatory gleam in her eyes. She swallowed it whole, the familiar, exquisite taste of a higher being’s soul flooding her senses. It was a crystallized essence with the biting, metallic chill of iron, a flavor that resonated deep within her demonic core.

At that very moment, the abyss’s blessing descended. Vorenza had known exactly what she desired: the complete restoration of her fractured domain, mending the scars of battle and bringing her back to her peak, devastating strength. The confluence of the abyss’s power and the absorbed soul became too much to contain. A raw, untamed laughter erupted from her, echoing across the entire abyss layer, a sound that vibrated with triumph and renewed power. Her scattered soldiers, who had retreated from the earlier cataclysm, looked at each other, an unspoken command passing between them, and began their march back towards their queen.

Soon, Vorenza’s ravaged territory was swarming with fifth-tier demons, all kneeling in fervent obeisance before her. Standing amidst them, now returned to her human form, a wide, triumphant grin split Vorenza’s face.

On Zarvok’s territory, Ikenga, Keles, and Zarvok had a front-row seat to the cataclysmic battle. But as Vorenza emerged victorious, Ikenga’s attention shifted. He cast a worried glance at Keles, who, in turn, ignored his gaze, instead tenderly caressing her subtly bulging stomach.

With a soft sigh, Keles looked back at Vorenza through the scrying mirror. "You need not doubt my words, Ikenga," she stated, her voice calm but firm. "That it didn’t come to pass now never meant it never will."

Ikenga’s brow furrowed. "She is strong. Your proclamation of her fate being inevitable might have meant something when she was weakened, but now she is healed and back at her peak. Doubts about where your confidence comes from can’t help but make themselves known."

Keles turned to face Ikenga, her veil obscuring her expression, a customary precaution in Zarvok’s presence. Her voice dropped, a chilling undercurrent running through her words. "Do you doubt my divinity, my ability as a goddess?"

Ikenga didn’t rush his answer this time. He took her arm gently. "I don’t doubt you or your divinity, but I find it hard how you can proclaim a fate of death to a being like her."

Keles shook her head at Ikenga’s claim. "I never proclaimed her death. It was not of my doing or calling, but rather something that was to come ’inevitable,’ and I, as the goddess of death and darkness, could see that."

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