Chapter 75: Chalu’s Journey (51)  

[Joe's POV]

As I watch the events unfold below, a strange mixture of frustration and helplessness washes over me. Even though I possess the power of a god, I am shackled by the very laws I once didn't understand. My godly vision reveals the future—the defeat they all seek will not happen here. Athos will survive this clash, just as I have seen in countless possibilities before. I can't stop it because I am bound. Powerless, despite my omnipotence, to change the course of events that play out before me.

Tsk—being a god, yet unable to act as one in my own creation. The irony tastes bitter.

When I first ascended to this divine plane, I thought I could reshape everything to my will. But now, I know the weight of that responsibility. The consequences of meddling in my own world, Eldan, are far more catastrophic than I could have ever imagined. It is one thing to watch the mortals, to observe their struggles and triumphs, but it's entirely another to intervene. If I so much as touch Athos, even with a fraction of my power, the delicate fabric of fate that holds this world together would unravel, and Eldan would face destruction.

Now I understand why the gods of Earth never interfered with us. Why they let humanity falter, suffer, and triumph on their own. The cost of breaking the balance is too high. This world I created, this realm I once thought I could control, would collapse if I twisted fate too severely. The threads of existence are fragile, and my power, though immense, is bound by these limits.

I gaze down at the chaotic battlefield. The skies above Eldan churn with magic and fury, as Colerio, Rowena, and their teams clash with Athos and Ash Minse, alongside their undead army. The Eldoan warriors and beastfolk, like Kenjo, fight bravely, their determination palpable even from my godly vantage point.

And yet…

Athos stands tall, his dark magic swirling around him like a storm, his power growing ever more chaotic. Ash Minse commands his skeletal army with the precision of a master tactician, his betrayal of Magux Kingdom still a wound fresh in the hearts of those who once called him friend.

Colerio leads the charge, his magic cutting through the hordes, his gaze locked on Athos. Rowena, ever fierce and determined, fights alongside him, their combined power formidable but not enough. I can see the strain in their eyes, the knowledge that they are not enough to end this here.

Kenjo, the turtle beastfolk, wields his katana with deadly skill, his loyalty to the cause unquestionable, even if his presence still raises suspicion among the Eldoans. I watch as he fights alongside knights and mages, an unlikely alliance forged in the fires of war.

But I know the truth.

Athos will survive.

This is not the final battle.

I gulp, feeling the weight of my powerlessness. A god, yet restricted by the very nature of creation. I am bound to watch, unable to lift a finger to alter the outcome. If I interfere, if I reach down and destroy Athos with my divine power, the delicate balance of Eldan will shatter. The consequences would be more than I could bear.

So I watch.

I watch as they fight with everything they have, knowing the outcome but powerless to change it.

.............

Meanwhile in the World of Eldan

Athos stared at Colerio Sapher with fury in his eyes, his once-calculated demeanor fraying at the edges. His voice seethed with barely restrained hatred as he spoke the name that now plagued his thoughts.

"Athos," Colerio said calmly, standing his ground. He looked at the creature in front of him—who look like an Eldoan, but something monstrous. Athos's face was like an octopus, with tentacles where his mouth should be, and his hands had become sharp claws. Despite the rage emanating from Athos, Colerio remained poised.

"You know me?" Colerio asked, his tone unshaken.

Athos sneered, his voice guttural. "From the memories I have absorbed. Many Eldoan and beastfolk... By the way their brain is delicious."

The air grew heavy with tension. Aro Lupe, who stood by Colerio's side, spat his words, his staff is drawn and ready. "Monster!!"

Athos responded with a chilling, creeping smile, baring rows of sharp teeth. His grin only widened as he shot a knowing glance at Colerio. "I'm not the only monster here..." His voice trailed off, hinting at a deeper darkness within Colerio. He could sense it, the shadow that lurked beneath Colerio's power.

Colerio did not respond, merely holding his silence, but his eyes briefly flickered with something unreadable—a recognition of Athos's words, perhaps.

As the battlefield raged around them, Athos's gaze shifted to his ally, Ash Minse. Ash, once a noble teacher mage of Eldoan, now a dark sorcerer corrupted by power, fought alongside a horde of skeletal minions. His katana-wielding opponent, Kenjo, a beastfolk warrior, matched Ash's ferocity with each strike. The clang of steel against magic reverberated across the field.

Ash's thoughts were cold and calculating, undisturbed by the chaos around him. He surveyed his undead forces with satisfaction. His gaze locked on Shen Mort, a former teacher, now a mindless lich under his command. Ash felt no remorse—his mind, twisted by wicked ambition, saw Shen Mort's transformation not as a loss but as a necessary sacrifice. Once a brilliant alchemist, Shen Mort had been reduced to a puppet in Ash's dark army. To Ash, this was power, pure and undeniable, and he reveled in it.

"I must find a way to reach Lord Athos..." Ash thought, momentarily distracted by the thought of consolidating their strength. The tide of the battle was teetering, and Ash knew that Athos would need his full support to claim victory.

But across the battlefield, another set of eyes was watching Shen Mort closely. Petra Haws, her heart heavy, gazed at the undead form of the man who had once been her friend. Shen, the kind-hearted alchemist who had risked his life for his students, was now reduced to this—a mere puppet of dark magic. Petra clenched her fists, memories of her escape with Ms. Lerona Everdale, the knight instructor, flooding her mind.

She recalled Shen's last words to her before everything fell apart—before Ash had twisted him into this unrecognizable form. They had been cornered, their only chance of survival lying in the risky escape they attempted together. Shen had turned to Petra, eyes full of sorrow, knowing what was coming.

"I love you.." Shen had confessed softly, moments before the darkness consumed him. Petra, stunned by the sudden revelation, had no time to respond as Shen teleported her away.

Now, seeing him as a lich, Petra's heart ached with grief and guilt. His confession still echoed in her mind. She wished she could have said something, done something, to save him from the fate Ash had doomed him to. But that moment was gone, lost to time and betrayal.

The Petra of now, hardened by battle, could not allow herself to falter. She tightened her grip on her sword, her gaze locked on the skeletal figure of Shen Mort. "I'll free you," she whispered to herself, determination flaring in her chest. No matter what it took, she would put Shen to rest, and rid him of this cursed existence.

...........

The aftermath of the battle spread before the group like a nightmare, as Roki, Bax, Lory, and Lucy, the four Eldoan mage students, tried to process the devastation surrounding them. Bodies of their fellow Eldoans and beastfolk alike littered the blood-soaked ground, the stench of death hanging thick in the air.

Roki adjusted his glasses, the light from the chaos around him reflecting off the clear lenses. He had always been the calculated one, analyzing every situation with an almost clinical detachment. His nerdy, composed demeanor often masked the intensity of his thoughts. But now, even he couldn't ignore the horror that stirred within him. "This is so cruel.." he muttered, his voice barely audible as he shook his head, trying to process the devastation. The weight of reality settled over him like a heavy fog, and for the first time, his calm, rational approach felt insufficient to grasp the magnitude of what lay before him.

Beside him, Bax clenched his fists so tightly his knuckles turned white. The usually easygoing fighter had a storm of fury brewing in his chest. "These bastards..." he growled under his breath, his voice trembling with rage. Bax had always been protective of his friends, but now, seeing the senseless loss of life, something inside him snapped. His fists itched for battle, for retribution.

Lory, a prideful noble by birth, was shaking uncontrollably. Her usual composure—the grace and confidence she carried as her noble heritage demanded—crumbled in the face of the grotesque scene before her. She forced herself to keep her eyes on the fallen, knowing that as a noble, she had to be strong. But inside, her resolve was cracking. She had never been prepared for such horror, and it took every ounce of willpower she had to keep standing.

Lucy, the quiet and thoughtful mage, couldn't bear it. The sights, the sounds, the overwhelming stench—it was too much. Her stomach churned violently, and without warning, she fell to her knees, vomiting as she looked at the dead. Tears streamed down her face as the reality of their situation hit her full force. "Why?" she whispered weakly, wiping her mouth, her heart breaking for the friends they had lost, the lives that had been destroyed.

Nearby, Rika and Brando, two knight students, stood stiffly. Rika's face was twisted in fury, her hands gripping her sword with a vice-like grip. As she looked out at the battlefield, she could barely contain the burning anger within her. This wasn't just a fight anymore—it was a massacre. The sight of so many fallen Eldoans made her blood boil, but one figure in the distance caught her eye.

Ash Minse.

The dark mage, once a respected member of their kingdom, now commanded an army of skeletons and his twisted creation, the lich Shen Mort, without remorse. Ash smirked as he gave orders, his voice cold and uncaring. It was as if their lives, their suffering, meant nothing to him. Rika's eyes narrowed in rage as she spotted one of the skeletons under Ash's command—an Eldoan knight student she once knew.

"Ronnie," she murmured, her voice barely audible, her heart sinking. Ronnie, a bald student who had once been her friend, was now nothing more than a soulless skeleton, stripped of his identity, his life, everything that made him human. Tears welled up in her eyes, but she refused to let them fall. "Monster!" she spat, her voice quivering with hatred as she raised her sword. The man she once called friend was now a puppet, and Ash was the one pulling the strings.

Brando, who usually spent most of his time half-asleep or lazily avoiding anything too strenuous, stood beside Rika, his face serious for once. He wasn't one to get involved in things unless absolutely necessary, but this was different. This was life and death. The lazy demeanor was gone, replaced by a grim determination. He shared Rika's resolve now, knowing that they couldn't allow this atrocity to continue.

He glanced at Rika, seeing the fury in her eyes, and gave a small nod. His sword was already drawn, and for the first time in a long while, Brando felt wide awake, focused on the task ahead. There was no room for hesitation, not here. Not now.

Together, the two knight students prepared to face Ash and his undead army. Rika's anger flared as she gripped her sword tighter, and Brando's normally lazy eyes were sharp, honed in on the enemy. They knew they had to fight, for their fallen friends, for the future of Eldoan, and for every life lost in this cruel battle.

The world had turned dark, but they would bring the light of justice to this nightmare.

To be continue