"What do you propose?" asked the Alpha God as the gravity began to ease and he pushed himself upright. Daion stared at him, confused, tightening his grip on the sword.
"If the Ten find out about this, war between Alpha and Omega would break out," the Primordial began, his figure wavering slightly. "And if my little brother were the one to do it, I'd probably be condemned to guard dead galaxies for a million years. Hardly convenient, in any sense."
Looks like the enemy has stronger reasons to avoid it, Daion thought, cursing himself for being caught in a conflict of such magnitude in such an arbitrary way.
"If you know that, then why are you here?" the god pressed. Daion found himself wondering the same thing—this was not the sort of being one would expect to intervene for mortals.
"I'm bored," the Primordial said. Daion's mouth fell open, shocked and disappointed; even the villagers lifted their eyes in confusion. It wasn't the answer anyone expected from the most powerful being alive. "I've spent three thousand years watching this planet, unable to intervene. That's why I won't allow someone like you to amuse yourself at my expense."
The Alpha God nodded. Daion thought, They're both so bored… one resigns himself to the millennia, the other stirs up minor trouble for entertainment, like a child playing with ants. He glanced aside and saw Amelie stand; her expression radiated disgust at what she'd just lived through. What worries me is how similar these two really are, he reflected.
"Then…" the Primordial said as the air cleared and his figure began to fade. "Let's leave it at this: leave this world, and I won't kill you. You don't tell the Ten, and I won't tell my brothers."
The figure vanished completely. A sudden wave of peace washed over them; even the civilians rose, calm and confused. All eyes turned to the Alpha God, who was muttering unintelligible words. Then his gaze fell on Daion—not with rage, but with indulgent disappointment.
He raised his hand; a dull screech echoed through the hall. The floor split open, and insects emerged from the cracks. The god snapped his fingers, and the creature disintegrated into dark matter, which merged back into his body.
"Hey," Daion called out; he still had a question, and there was probably no better chance to put it to a god. "You said you were searching for a special artifact, right? Can I know if you found it?"
The god narrowed his eyes, scanning the chamber as though unsure how to respond. He sighed and pointed toward the central column.
"It was a rectangular object, but it was taken from the temple decades ago," he replied without irritation. Daion couldn't fathom why he was sharing this so indifferently, when minutes before he'd tried to kill them. "I didn't find it anywhere in the temple."
Daion clenched his fists in frustration. He had no idea what to do now, when his plan had relied on growing stronger with whatever had been hidden here.
"Do you know who could have taken it?" Daion asked, dejected, scratching the back of his head.
"There's a powerful trace… from a human. But I can't say for certain who it was," the god admitted, touching his chin with a gesture Daion found needlessly theatrical.
"You said the frontier's destruction was approaching. What exactly does that mean?" he asked firmly. Ken looked up, expectant.
"I said I don't care about the corrupt, but that doesn't mean I'll tell you everything," the god shot back. "Just be aware—when they return, it won't be long before everything collapses."
Daion sighed in resignation and turned away. The god studied him for a moment.
"Hey…"
Daion turned, and a chill ran down his spine as he saw the god approaching. There was no hostility in him; it was as if nothing that had happened truly mattered. He was genuinely toying with them.
"You managed to wound me. That's rather impressive." Ken and Amelie looked at him with curiosity, still in disbelief that the weakest among them had managed to cut off his arm. "I suppose it's worth giving you a reward."
The god extended his hand and placed it on Daion's forehead. Daion tensed completely but didn't pull back. The Alpha smirked faintly, and the tips of his fingers glowed with a violet radiance.
Daion blinked. He was seeing a memory.
He sat at a table, dressed in simple clothes, with no weapons or military uniform. In front of him lay a notebook, which he filled with idle scribbles as he sighed softly.
The door opened behind him. A group of four men and three women entered, chatting without concern. The same blonde girl as always gave him a mischievous smile, approached, and threw herself onto him, wrapping her arms around his neck. Daion didn't protest.
The others sat at the table, placing several bags of food down. Daion glanced at his notebook: there were sketches of people—perhaps family, perhaps friends. He closed the pages and began speaking words that, in that moment, were unintelligible. The girl ran her fingers through his hair as he smiled. He was happy—a happiness he hadn't even seen in his own memories before.
Reality returned. The god withdrew his hand as dark matter began to envelop his divine body.
"What was that?" Daion asked, his eyes glistening.
"I noticed you can't access your memories, so I brought one of the most precious to the surface," the being replied. Daion still couldn't understand his motives.
"Thank you…" Daion whispered, a faint smile tugging at his lips. Ken watched with genuine curiosity, torn between feeling happy for him and irritated at his small victory.
"A warning," said the Alpha god, now almost completely covered in dark matter. "Your mind is shattered. That's why you don't remember. Still, you can reach it with effort… though what you find may hurt you more than help you."
"Why do you say that?" asked Daion, tilting his head in confusion.
"Because those who live in war never end well," the god assured him.
The dark matter enveloped him fully, and with a piercing, revolting sound, his presence vanished. Daion wondered what his words truly meant.
As the weight of his aura lifted, the survivors felt as though a steel anvil had been pulled off their backs.
Daion collapsed to his knees, trembling. Ken hunched over, clutching his side; his body was battered and misshapen from the blows. Amelie rushed to check on Brut, who still lay on the ground, barely breathing.
She quickly tried to revive him. Among the rubble, Marui managed to rise slowly; of all present, he had taken the weakest hit. Daion tried to stand, but his legs betrayed him. He had no strength left. He scanned his surroundings cautiously.
The villagers were broken: some threw themselves to the ground crying and screaming, others clung to one another, shaking, and a few stood paralyzed, their gazes lost in the void. The demi-humans were being tended by Amelie who, though unharmed, wore an expression of deep exhaustion. She still carried the boy on her back, and Daion felt relief knowing she had managed to protect them all. None had died, and some even exchanged faint smiles, freed by the certainty of survival.
The soldiers, on the other hand, maintained a stone silence. No one wept, no one mourned their fallen comrade. After decades of witnessing atrocities, one more death was just another scar on their souls.
Ken clenched his fists in restrained fury. He had saved a girl—perhaps instinctively, perhaps deliberately—but he had done it. Daion wondered if he was reflecting on the fact that he had betrayed his own philosophy—that unyielding belief that nothing mattered but survival—or if he was simply throwing a tantrum for having done so.
Daion also noticed the young girl, sitting beside him, hugging her knees while tears streamed down her face. Her father, meanwhile, sat apart on the ground, his expression grim.
Daion gritted his teeth, rage twisting his features. With effort, he stood and walked toward the man, who looked up at him warily.
"Why did you do it?" Daion asked, his voice sharp. The father scowled and turned away. "Answer me. What kind of father does that?"
The man said nothing. Daion clicked his tongue and yanked him up by his clothes with brutal ease. The father struggled in vain.
"Let me go, damn summoned!" he spat, thrashing against Daion's grip.
"You abandoned your daughter to die!" Daion roared. The man froze, caught in the summoned's glare. He bit his lip and lowered his head.
"I was afraid…" he muttered at last. Daion's eyes widened. "I only wanted to save my life. I'm not even sure that child is truly my daughter. How can you blame me for wanting to survive?"
Daion hurled him to the ground. His face was a map of disgust and astonishment.
"What the hell are you talking about?" he pressed, as if still hoping for a less pathetic excuse.
"I don't know what you mean… I just did the logical thing…"
"He saved her!" Daion shouted, pointing at Ken, who flinched at being dragged into it. The father looked at him in confusion. "A damn fool with delusions of grandeur… one of the summoned you all criticize for wanting to survive at any cost! And yet, he was the one who saved her!"
The villagers froze, staring at the summoned who, though gravely wounded, had risked everything to protect them—even when survival was all they claimed to care about.
"That idiot did it," Daion went on, incredulous. "Even though it went against everything he preaches, he saved her. And you, her father—someone who should be bound more than anyone else to the people of this world… you just ran?"
The father gave no answer; he only looked away, hunched in his own self-pity.
Daion studied him for a few seconds before turning away. Ken's words echoed in his mind: was it really worth risking themselves for people who were cowardly and vile? After all, they were still human. And yet Daion couldn't reconcile it… or maybe he wouldn't have, had he not met that noble, or seen Ken risk himself to save the girl.
He clenched his fists, remembering how Loryn had accused him of hypocrisy. And in a way, she was right: he had to choose. Would he follow the same path as the other summoned, or would he truly try to save these people?
He sighed to himself, conflicted. His gaze landed on Yair, whose expression remained unshaken, as if nothing had changed during the attack. That man had killed against his will, only so he wouldn't be branded a deserter.
Daion tried to take a step, but his leg immediately gave out. The adrenaline was gone, and his body no longer responded as it should. In that state, if they ran into a Corrupt—no matter how weak—it would almost certainly mean death. They had to reach the border, but there was no clear, safe, or even remotely plausible way to get there.
He looked at Ken, who held a strange stone in his hand. A reddish smoke seeped from it as its bearer wore an expression of annoyance, almost defeat. And that feeling wasn't far from the truth.
Then the ground rumbled lightly. A thunderous crash pulled everyone from their thoughts: the ceiling began to split apart, chunks of stone crashing down with dull thuds. The presence descending was unmistakable; the air grew hot in an instant. With solemn grace, his red hair tossed by the wind, Thaloren appeared.
Daion glanced at Ken with curiosity. The latter staggered as he stepped forward.
"They're special stones that draw Thaloren's attention," he explained wearily, covering his face with a hand before letting the rock drop. The smoke faded and the object lost its color. "They can only be used once… and they're ridiculously expensive."
"Why use it only now?" Daion asked, frowning.
"I used it the moment we saw the Alpha god. But Thaloren isn't omnipresent. He can't arrive in five minutes," Ken replied, struggling to straighten himself.
"It's only been that long?" Daion looked at him in disbelief. Ken nodded. Now that he thought about it, not much time had passed after all.
Thaloren finally descended before the summoned. His eyes swept over the destruction, the shaken villagers and soldiers, and the battered state of the summoned themselves.
"What happened here?" he asked, his expression heavy with guilt for arriving late.
"Hey…" Ken whispered to Daion. "According to what those gods said, we shouldn't report that an Alpha god was here, right?"
Daion thought for a moment. It was clear both sides wanted to keep it secret; revealing it now could easily draw that being's attention again… and not just his, but the Primordial's brother as well. And yet, there were so many witnesses.
"For this many people to keep it secret is…" he began, but then all of them felt a chill run down their spines. It was as if the Primordial's gaze stabbed into them with a strict command: silence.
"There's my answer," Daion muttered as he stood. Thaloren, who seemed unaware of anything, was still waiting. "It was a shadow."
Thaloren raised a brow, but after a few seconds, seemed to accept the explanation.
"What was a high-ranking Alpha creature doing here?" he asked, still confused.
"It detected a strong Omega energy signal. It might have been sent to investigate," Daion replied without thinking too much.
Thaloren didn't look entirely convinced.
"And you defeated it on your own?"
The summoned scanned them up and down. Brut, who had only half regained consciousness, struggled to sit upright.
"As you can see, it was more of a miracle than anything else. We were lucky it was distracted," Ken assured him. Daion noticed blood flowing from his side again.
Thaloren's eyes swept across the hall, as if seeking confirmation. Everyone nodded, and at last he sighed.
"Very well. I'll escort you to the border," he decided. His aura softened as he approached Brut. With a gesture, he conjured a bed of flames that lifted the wounded man into the air. Then he began toward the exit. "We must safeguard the villagers. With me here, moving forward won't be difficult."
Daion looked at Ken, who sighed in resignation and followed. Amelie watched him for a moment; she seemed on the verge of tears but held them back and carried on. Marui, however, gave him a pat on the shoulder, acknowledging his effort.
Daion walked over to Aelith, who was tightening the straps to secure the boy onto her back. The summoned smiled and, without a word, crouched to help fasten the knots for her.
"You did great," he said with pride and conviction.
She frowned, disapproving of his overconfident tone, but Daion simply ruffled her hair before moving on. The demi-humans followed closely behind.
Once outside the castle, the air worried them. In their weakened state, it would be easy for the villagers to die or catch infections.
"Everyone, gather close," Thaloren ordered. The group obeyed, and he raised his hand, focusing until a dome of crimson flames surrounded them.
They advanced effortlessly beneath that protection until they reached the top. Daion still couldn't believe the strength a summoned could wield with the right god at his side.
When they arrived, Thaloren dispelled the technique and wiped beads of sweat from his forehead. Daion wondered how the battle with the god might have gone if Thaloren had been there. Though deep down, he was certain they hadn't even glimpsed that being's true power.
Traveling with Thaloren was practically a child's stroll: they didn't need to worry about the Corrupt, and simply kept moving forward. Daion questioned with every step whether his role was merely to escort a group to the border—or to truly protect them.
"You're lucky we're only a few hours from the border," Thaloren remarked to the Invoked. His gaze shifted to Daion, noting how the demihumans positioned themselves behind him, as if seeking refuge. "Interesting. Could you repeat your name for me, Invoked?"
Daion studied him for a moment; he was exhausted, his vision blurring.
"You can call me Daion," he replied. Thaloren gave a slow nod.
"You were traveling with Loryn, weren't you?" he asked.
"You know him?"
"We were companions for a time, to be honest… though he was a real idiot." Thaloren chuckled softly. Daion smiled in return; he knew exactly what he meant. "Truth is, I still don't understand him."
"You can say that again…"
Amelie stayed close to Brut, constantly checking if he was still breathing; if his lungs filled with fluid before reaching the fortress, he might not survive. Meanwhile, Daion couldn't stop circling around what he needed to do, while a stabbing pain began to cloud his mind.
Aelith shivered at the sight of his condition. In a way, she had begun to understand him; it wasn't so hard when she was practically watching him grow all over again.
The group halted abruptly at a faint sound. They turned in unison: a cluster of Corrupted was watching them from afar. Daion gripped his sword instantly. The creatures, twisted and erratic, glanced at one another as if communicating. Then, behind them, a figure emerged that looked like a true demon. Even from that distance, it had to be nearly three meters tall. Its silhouette, crowned with massive horns, glowed faintly, though it was impossible to make out clearly.
Ken and Marui tensed at once.
"That's…" Ken muttered.
"A mid-ranked Corrupted," Thaloren confirmed with unsettling calm.
He raised his hand, ready to strike the moment they advanced—but the creatures turned and vanished. Thaloren hesitated for a second before deciding against pursuit.
"For now, let's conserve our strength," he said, resuming the march. The rest followed, their nerves showing plainly.
Within hours they reached the fortress. The gates opened upon recognizing them. Several soldiers and Invoked appeared, weapons ready, but their hostility faded the instant they saw Thaloren. From atop the wall, Seraphine leaned over and flashed Daion a mocking smile.
The Invoked discreetly shot her the middle finger.
Inside, a few guards inspected them. Daion couldn't tell how, but with just a strand of hair as a sample, they somehow confirmed their identities. He doubted they had the equipment for something like that, so he figured one of them must have had the ability.
Afterward, each of them was given a vial of the same miraculous fluid he'd once obtained in Cadenar. With just a sip, Daion felt revitalized.
He then approached one of the captains.
"Excuse me, can I ask you something?" The captain glanced sideways at him and nodded. Daion motioned for Aelith to come closer with the boy still on her back. "Is there anything that can be done for him?"
The captain studied the demihuman for a few seconds, noting the mutilated leg, then fixed his gaze on Daion.
"I'm sorry. We don't provide medicine to demihumans," he said without hesitation.
Daion had expected it, but at least he had tried.
"I understand… in that case, could I buy it?" he asked wearily.
The captain considered it for a moment, then shook his head.
"Even if you give him the medicine, the wound will only close. The leg won't grow back. And a crippled demihuman is doomed to die." His tone was icy, and without giving Daion a chance to reply, he turned and walked away.
Daion tightened his grip on the half-full vial. He looked at Aelith: her arms were scraped, her fists raw and red.
"How badly are you hurt?" he asked.
"I'll survive. Give it to him," she insisted, setting the boy down gently against the wall.
Daion nodded, approached the young demihuman, opened the bottle, and helped him drink. The boy swallowed with effort but soon collapsed to the floor.
Aelith flinched, about to scream, but Daion calmed her with a hand on her shoulder. He pressed two fingers to the boy's neck, focused, and felt steady, strong beats.
"He's just unconscious," he assured her. Aelith relaxed instantly, dropping to her knees in relief.
Daion was surprised at how much she had fought to keep the boy alive. The least he could do was match her effort. He was about to lift them both when a deafening noise shook the fortress—the alarms.
Invoked and soldiers rushed toward the outer wall. Daion followed out of curiosity, warning Aelith to stay behind.
Outside, he pushed his way through tense bodies and hardened faces until he reached Thaloren, who had arrived first. The Invoked's expression was one of deep unease.
Daion looked ahead, and a shiver ran down his spine.
A small group of Corrupted stood before them, but the energy they radiated prickled the skin like a thousand needles. Among them, he recognized the same Corrupted from earlier, lingering a few meters behind the others. The rest were equally grotesque and twisted. Daion clenched his fists when he spotted another Glutton—like the one he had slain at Steelwall.
And then he saw it—standing in the center of the group.
It wore elegant gray clothes with white accents resembling cracks in stone. At a glance, it looked no different from a human: pale, dull skin, long silver hair cascading down its back, brushing the ground.
It smiled at the Invoked. Daion didn't know why, but his body trembled. His gauntlet burned with a sharp, stinging heat.
Thaloren swallowed hard and began to advance with caution.
Daion was certain of one thing: this man radiated a power equal to… or even greater than Thaloren himself.
End of Chapter