It was then amid the chaos and screams that a new voice echoed, not through the air, but directly into every mind within the city. The voice of the crown prince. "Listen," it began, calm but strained, as if he were speaking while in motion. "These creatures... they’re bound by rules. Rules that only we can break not them. Their target is Father and Father alone. To them, we don’t exist." The words resonated in every mind, soldiers, nobles, even Erik himself paused midair, his eyes flicking briefly in the prince’s direction. The prince continued, his tone growing tighter, as if he was forcing the thoughts through sheer will. "But when we attack, when any of us make a move, something changes. It’s like a rule is proven, and a new one takes its place. Each time we act, they’re granted a kind of... privilege. And when that happens, they turn on the citizens instead." There was a short silence in the shared link, then the prince’s voice came again, quieter now. "Also... I might be wrong, but each citizen they kill, each one they absorb, it’s altering them. When I first clashed with them, they were unstable... hastily bound together, like something half-formed. But now..." He hesitated. Everyone could feel the unease that came with his next words. "Now they’re evolving. Their mangled forms are being... perfected." The telepathic link fell silent. For a few heartbeats, all movement stopped. Soldiers and mages who had been readying their next attacks froze where they stood. Even the royal family members, faltered, torn between duty and dread. Then, slowly, they began to withdraw, stepping back from their monstrous opponents. And, just as the prince had said, the creatures no longer seemed to notice them. They turned away, their focus shifting once more toward the streets below. Toward the terrified cries of their citizens. With every lurching step, they smashed through walls and rooftops, clawed through hiding places, dragging out the cursed beings within. Their red tendrils lashed, and each strike left behind withered husks, bodies so dry they cracked like old parchment before collapsing to dust. The stench of decay filled the air. The royal family could do nothing but watch, jaws tight and hands trembling with the weight of restraint. Any move would trigger another shift in the monsters’ behavior another slaughter. Then, all at once, the killing stopped. The streets fell silent. Every creature froze mid-motion, their heads lifting in eerie unison. Slowly, they turned. Their collective gaze fixed on a single figure hovering above the shattered remnants of the castle. ᴛhis chapter is ᴜpdated by 𝔫𝔬𝔳𝔢𝔩~𝕗𝕚𝕣𝕖~𝙣𝙚𝙩 Suspended midair, his cloak rippling in the wind, he was silent—his golden-ringed eyes glowing faintly as he studied the creatures below. He could see it now: the pattern, the design behind their madness. They weren’t mindless beasts. They were built with purpose. And whatever that purpose was, it was tied to him. The air cracked as he broke through the sound barrier, his form vanishing in a blur of motion that streaked across the sky. The shockwave rippled through the ruined city, rattling debris and shaking what little of the palace still stood. He wasn’t running, he was leading. Anything to draw those creatures away from his people, from his family. The red monstrosities reacted instantly. As though bound by invisible strings, their heads snapped toward him, eyes glowing like molten embers. Then came the sound, an ear-splitting chorus of roars that rolled through the air like thunder. And when one of them moved, the others followed. The first to act was the creature wielding the trident of coral and starlight. It crouched low, coiling like a spring, and then leapt skyward with terrifying force. The trident arced through the air, tearing open a rift a hole in thin air that shimmered with liquid light. Without hesitation, the creature plunged through. One by one, the others followed, slipping into the wound in the sky like beasts returning to the sea. In moments, the rift sealed behind them with a sharp crack, leaving the mortal sky empty once more. The crown prince, still hovering amid the drifting mist of melted ice and shattered magic, watched in silence. His expression was complicateda m. ix of relief, awe, and something close to resignation. Finally, he exhaled "Who has Father angered this time?" he murmured, almost to himself. Meanwhile, in the divine realms... Two figures watched the unfolding events with visible irritation from their realms. Tide leaned back in his seat, her expression tight, a hint of saltwater glimmering at the corners of his eyes. In his own realm, Ikem’s usually calm demeanor was marred by a frown. Both had their arms crossed, lips pressed into identical lines of displeasure. Their plan, so carefully woven through some restraint, had been exposed. Erik’s son had seen through the design quicker than they thought, understood the pattern of their "rules." The realization stung more than either cared to admit. For gods, the act of directly influencing the mortal realm came with boundaries, restrictions carved into the very fabric of existence. To intervene too freely was to risk unraveling the balance that separated divine from mortal. Erik’s actions toward the gods, while audacious, had not yet crossed the divine threshold that warranted personal retaliation. Were it otherwise, both Ikem and Tide would have struck him down without hesitation. But divine law was absolute, direct action against a mortal, came with consequences even gods dared not incur. Still, Ikem was not one to let such insults go unanswered. Sharp-minded and deliberate, he devised another way. If his own hands were bound by the rules , then he would forge something that wasn’t. The creatures, divine constructs born of his furywere to serve as his instruments. Through them, his wrath could take form in the mortal world without violating the letter of divine law. He breathed into them a single rule, the foundation of their being: That constraint was what allowed them to exist, to act freely without divine penalty. They would focus solely on him, ignoring everything else. No collateral destruction. No divine interference. A perfect loophole, surgical, justified, and contained. When Tide learned of his creation, his own emotions flared. His was not the cold precision of Ikem, but the raw, rolling force of the ocean’s heart. Erik’s action had not only wounded his pride but mocked his dominion. And worse, those cursed being the source of connection between Erik and Siren, To Tide that was unforgivable and that made his hatred for the cursed being even more potent. Into Ikem’s creatures, she poured her own essence. He armed them from his treasury and at the same time breathed into them more than the basic instincts Ikem had given. But with that will came his own rule, an extension of her wrath, subtle yet devastating "If any mortal being stands in the way of your wrath, you may take a life in recompense. The more you are obstructed, the more life you may claim." It was vengeance made recursive. A growing tide of consequence. Each act of resistance by Erik’s people would only feed the creatures’ license to kill. Through this rule, Tide ensured his anger would not just be felt, it would spread. Every death, every loss, would echo Erik’s defiance back at him, a wound that deepened with every attempt to defend his kingdom. And it was perfect. A curse masquerading as justice, a rule that was, on paper, detached from Tide himself and yet carried the unmistakable signature of her rage. But now, their careful balance had been exposed. The crown prince had seen through the divine design, unraveling in moments what was meant to be a slow and tormenting revelation. Meanwhile, in their own realms, the actions of Tide and Ikem did not go unnoticed. The other gods and even the Origin Gods themselves watched with silent fascination. To see two divine beings circumvent the sacred restrictions placed upon them was both audacious and enlightening. What Tide and Ikem had done was not merely vengeance; it was innovation. Their approach sparked ideas, dangerous, brilliant ideas. If such loopholes existed, then perhaps divine law was not the unbreakable cage it appeared to be, but rather a system that could be interpreted. And once interpretation entered the equation, so did opportunity. Of course, the gathered deities understood that several unique factors had allowed Tide and Ikem’s anger to manifest so vividly in the mortal world. Their success was not something easily replicated. For instance, Ikem’s influence had reached the mortal plane through a connection, the worshipped statue dedicated to him within Erik’s domain. Through that carved effigy, a fragment of his divinity flowed, like roots threading through fertile soil. When his wrath took shape, it merely travelled along that existing pathway. As for Tide, his circumstances were different. The rule that restricted his divine hand had been straight, it forbade her from taking personal action against Erik a mortal. Erik’s action while creating a cause and an effect between them was no quite enough for his personal action to be granted.