Chapter 293
Chapter 293
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 293
Chapter Title: The Key to the Nine Myriad Long Heavens (9)
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“If elves had gods, I wonder what they would look like. Would they resemble us? Or do we resemble them?”
Jerolen’s words echoed eerily through the banquet hall. Leia bowed her head in silence. She was the person closest to the Elven Pantheon in this era, and the one who had actually spoken directly with a goddess.
Even so, she had not faced the true form of a god. How were the forms of gods depicted? In ancient paintings, mosaics, tapestries, and stained glass. They were always portrayed as the most perfect elves.
Of course they were. The gods had bestowed their forms upon the creatures they loved most. Or so it was said.
“If there had been immortals in our image... we would have submitted to them, even if it meant turning a blind eye to the truth. If... those beings had loved us, we would have gladly burned our souls for them.”
Jerolen slowly closed his eyes and drank with trembling hands. The scene from that day still shone vividly behind his eyelids.
It was purple.
* * *
The World Tree is the gateway connecting the Elven Pantheon to the material world, a proof of the divine that no other civilized race possesses. Unlike the lesser races who build churches and cathedrals, yearning for their gods’ love.
Purple. This colossal tree stretching beyond the horizon is proof that our gods love us. The elves proclaimed it proudly.
But why had the gods of other races not bestowed such a gift? Why were their miracles free of cost?
Was it truly because the elven gods were superior?
“What... what in the...!”
Jerolen’s mouth hung open, his eyes wide. Strength drained from his hands gripping the spear, making it hard to hold his stance.
The world beyond the gateway. Souls were scattering from the distant sky, the writhing earth, and all the way to the fog-shrouded horizon.
The realm of the gods was closer to concepts than forms. In that fleeting instant of shock, as his focus shattered and consciousness frayed, his body had begun crumbling into dust.
“Get a grip!”
Malern ground his teeth and formed hand seals. The disintegrating bodies of Gaimern and Jerolen regained their forms. Malern jerked his chin toward the sky beyond, unable to hide his disgust.
“Can you call that thing a god? Dare to call that being our race’s savior and light? Our creator? It’s a glutton!”
In the direction he pointed, shapes floated. Souls of elves who had offered themselves as sacrifices or died calling on their gods swirled in a vortex. Unknowingly, Jerolen whispered.
“De... mon...”
Even among elves, the ‘fallen’ were plentiful. Demonic corruption knew no racial bounds. Even for elves, whose gods were so manifest, the temptations of demons were lethally hard to resist.
Such beings often sacrificed kin or offered themselves as burnt offerings. Their souls were sucked into the demons they worshipped, and the demons left behind power and relics to prove their existence.
Such behavior... wasn’t it astonishingly similar?
“Yes. Our ancestors, their ancestors, and theirs before. All of them swallowed into that bloated gut! Impressive, isn’t it? To devour an entire race, they stripped away the race’s very will to resist! Those parasites mimicked the forms of gods!”
What was the most efficient way to corrupt a stubborn, prideful people? To disguise oneself as their god. To show mercy, feign love, whisper one’s name... and make them worship themselves.
Was it enough? Did that mean it was sufficient? Now that they were no longer useful, would it consume the entire race, burn them all, and hoard their souls for its power?
Jerolen glared at the approaching entity with blazing eyes. Soul devourer. He knew that being... but he could no longer call it by the name it had given him.
[My children have returned!]
It was a gentle chorus, a sweet voice that slipped through cracks in the soul and stole focus. Just hearing it made one want to kneel and beg for mercy.
How absurd was this? The gateway to the gods opened so easily, and anyone who wished could behold their form. In the elves’ long history, if even one had climbed the World Tree’s peak and opened the gate...
“Why didn’t you stop us?”
Jerolen spat blood as he spoke. Rage and revulsion had ground his molars, ruining his gums. He shouted at the approaching entity.
“Why! You... why!!”
Why did you use us? Why didn’t you stop us? Why did you abandon us? Many questions were implied, but none took shape.
His spirit broke. In this moment when the greater cause he had believed in, and all the common sense he had trusted, crumbled away. Even the strongest warrior could not retain reason.
[Why, you ask? What an amusing question! Well, why do you think? Hmm?]
It formed a massive eye in the air and rolled it playfully. Souls of dead elves bubbled up nearby, like flowing tears.
Its gaze fixed on Malern. Soon, its eye curved like a crescent moon.
[Why didn’t you tell them? Hmm? I spared you because your whining was so pathetic and cute. But you couldn’t even fulfill your role properly?]
“You... bastard!!”
Malern roared in fury. But Jerolen sensed something off in the process. After spending no short time together crossing the line of death, he remembered Malern’s tells.
That was the face he made when hiding something.
[Aha! Could it be... you said there were no gods? Yes, yes... How kind of you... How noble! Wanted to protect your friends’ hearts? How touching, so caring! Why say there are none when they were right here with you all along!]
It grinned wickedly and opened its maw. Gem-like figures gleamed inside. Similar to elven souls... yet utterly pure, without a speck of impurity.
Origin of the race. Instinct as an elf screamed fiercely. Ancestors. Likely the true ancestors from the distant past they would have worshipped as ‘gods.’
[You have lost! To me, to my legions! Do you understand, children? Your parents have become my most beautiful jewels. You will too! Did you cry out the names of gods? Did you see the soldiers screaming they didn’t want to die? So beautiful! I was your wind, your earth, your fields, your dawn! Every name of god you called existed for me!]
It burst into ecstatic laughter. In this realm of concepts, thoughts themselves shaped forms. Frenzy-like exaltation exploded everywhere, churning radiant bubbles like waves.
A sickly sweet scent pierced the nose, blood surged, and the body stiffened. Jerolen bit his lip to regain focus and glared. He forced his weakening spear tip upright.
[Impressive. You three... rival those from that time. I thought the remnants of your race were no more than grains awaiting harvest... Was I wrong? I deemed the mine exhausted and moved to abandon it!]
Greed flickered in its eye. Malern stepped back, quietly forming seals. Gaimern advanced, raising his shield. Jerolen leveled his spear straight at its brow.
[You too shall become my jewels, shining eternally. Your struggles will entertain across eons! Fight! Fight until death, refine your souls! Thus, you shall become even more perfect treasures!]
With its cry, the world rippled. The small entities flying around it, harvesting and devouring souls, took form one by one and descended to the ground.
The three heroes readied their weapons without reply. They were too exhausted to argue or speak otherwise. In the realm of concepts, soul fatigue affected the flesh.
They might die. No, probably... they would. The three thought it simultaneously. And the thought that followed was the same.
There was no reason they had to survive. Only a need to kill it.
* * *
“From the moment a being, an individual, seizes power too vast for one person, divinity adorns it. It transcends the limits of flesh and soul, becoming a conceptual existence. A natural law beyond personal good or evil.”
Jerolen continued quietly.
“All gods were born that way. Ancient beings, impossibly old with origins unknown, up to the proxies who became concepts themselves. And demons too. Those at the pinnacle, ruling legions and clutching minions’ souls.”
The five great demons. Not all their names and existences were widely known, but in the secret histories of the world, their names always lingered at the fringes of demonic stirrings.
Tyban, Yekaset, Sadarkelia, Mumto, Urkasia.
But not all great demons were called that back then. During the Celestial War, Sadarkelia had not yet fallen. Mumto had not been born.
“There were five called great demons then too. Four known before, but one more.”
The Harvester Eidaar. After victory in the war against the Elven Pantheon, it devoured all the pantheon’s gods and vanished.
For ages, it masqueraded as gods, breeding elves, devouring their souls, growing until it boasted power beyond any other.
“The reason it abandoned us was that our souls’ quality was no longer superior.”
Elves of the Celestial War era were in decline. A dwindling population, fading ancient knowledge and power. Newborn elves were smaller and frailer than their predecessors.
A race with disrupted soul cycles, bred solely for husbandry. The gloom over the entire race could not be lifted as long as it lived—
“And when it survived and descended directly from the pantheon realm to stand atop the World Tree. Who could possibly stop it?”
A demon that had wholly devoured a race and consumed its gods. Its long dormancy had granted power proportional to the time. The only way to stop it was to slay it in the conceptual realm before it reached the material world and formed fully.
“How long did they fight? A place without time. Perhaps eternally. Maybe they struggled forever as it desired. Endless demons swarming, its gaze watching and laughing. Beneath that—.”
No time, but experience remains. Accumulated experience has power enough to twist a person’s nature. Like ancient dragons driven mad in the end.
Just as it desired.
* * *
Memories fragmented, spliced, tangled again. After struggles near eternity, the three heroes reached the great demon.
In retrospect, it was strange. Even as its forces shattered, it had merely laughed from that spot without moving.
But then, they had no room for such thoughts. Malern’s spell bound its body, Gaimern pinned its thrashing form, and Jerolen’s spear descended upon its heart.
[You must live forever.]
“What?”
“Don’t listen. No more.”
[Raise spear and sword against the ages, carve out time, tread upon death. If you would extend even a moment longer the instant granted your kin.]
It laughed, staring into their eyes.
[Do not think my death your victory. Your survival will be my pleasure too. Struggle. Refine yourselves. I shall remain here.]
“Our time may be short, but longer than yours. You die now.”
Gaimern said coldly, pressing down. It gasped and laughed.
[Yes! Yes! Death! Do you know how long I reigned over you? How many ages I spent in your faith? I am immortal! Your lives and deaths, your religions and civilizations—all lead to me!]
A parasite turned racial god, a collaborative creation of the conceptual realm shaping faith. It had become the symbol of elven worship itself. No amount of time would change that, and its mad laughter would echo eternally beneath the shadows of elven lands.
Even in their brief exchange, one truth was clear. It would return. Someday, when it had devoured all kin souls.
And if an extinction-level event befell the elves, and ages passed, its rivals would weaken too.
That was why it didn’t resist. Seeing the struggling heroes, it realized the time wasn’t right yet. Now, the parasite would mimic death.
“We must kill it.”
Malern said, staring at its laughing maw.
“There’s still a way.”
Gazing at the glowing spirits in its mouth, Malern wove spells with resolute eyes.