The Guardian gods
Chapter 538

Chapter 538: 538

As for the battling ratmen and Bolthrower, they knew nothing of the dramatic events unfolding across the Empire. Their world remained the visceral, blood-soaked chaos of the front lines. A new nightmare, however, was about to unfold. The armor, designed to be so helpful, was proving too effective. Casualties among the ratmen were significantly lower than usual, an unforeseen consequence of the rogue intervention.

The sudden appearance of the Ogres had taken them by surprise. There was no strategic reason for the imposing warriors to descend at this moment; the Abyss had not yet pushed its higher-tier demons to the forefront. But nonetheless, seeing the Ogre Knights cleave through the swarms of lower-tier demons, momentarily clearing a path and giving the exhausted ratmen a brief moment of respite, was a welcome, if baffling, sight.

It was in this brief lull that the Abyss responded, a guttural roar from the depths signaling the shift. Higher-tier demons began to surge forward, their monstrous forms eclipsing the lesser fiends. The Ogre Knights, true to their unexpected role, briefly engaged these new, more formidable threats, their runic armor glowing as they clashed with ancient horrors.

"Briefly" was the key word here. After only a few minutes, the Ogre Knights began to fall back, their retreat disciplined but swift. The massive ship that had brought them descended lower, almost inviting attack, and the higher-tier demons, sensing an easier target, redirected their assault towards it. In response, the Ogre Knights seemed to have a perfect, undeniable reason to pull away, which they did. And just like that, the ratmen were left to face the newly unleashed nightmare of the higher-tier demons, alone once more.

The gnawing terror that had briefly subsided with the Ogre Knights’ intervention now returned with a vengeance, colder and sharper than before. Even with their miraculously improved and powerful new armor and weapons, the ratmen quickly learned the terrifying limits of their newfound strength. The early third-tier demons, were the absolute apex of what they could consistently handle.

Against anything beyond that, anything truly higher on the abyssal hierarchy, it was no longer a fight to win, but a brutal, agonizing struggle merely to stay alive. A fourth-tier demon could sweep aside a dozen armored ratmen with a single, contemptuous gesture, their enhanced weapons sparking impotently against its infernal hide.

The mana-charged blades that had scythed through lesser fiends now merely scratched the surface, or were parried with casual ease by claws that dwarfed their wielders. The ratmen found themselves dodging, weaving, and desperately sacrificing their brethren to buy precious seconds, their new armor providing only a thin veneer of protection against overwhelming power.

The illusion of invincibility, fleeting as it was, had shattered, replaced by the grim reality that even with their miraculous gifts, they were still just ratmen facing an enemy of cosmic, terrifying scale.

The earlier surprise intervention of the Ogre Knights now felt like a cruel jest, their retreat leaving the ratmen to face an unleashed horror. Hours bled into one another, a relentless, grinding struggle against overwhelming odds, until the first shadows of night began to stretch across the ravaged land.

Worst of all, with no Imperial forces to halt their relentless push, vast swathes of land were consumed. Entire valleys and strategic passes fell silent under the encroaching darkness as the higher-tier demons solidified their gains, their monstrous forms casting long, terrifying shadows across the newly conquered territories.

As night finally fell, a profound weariness settled over the world, but for Rattan, it was a different kind of darkness. He sat in his office, the glow of the holographic world map casting an eerie light on his face, a half-empty bottle of some potent, fiery liquid clutched in his hand. Guilt and shame were an overwhelming, suffocating sensation. He had long since received word of what had happened to his fellow mages, his "friends" who had dared to risk everything for the broadcast. He knew of their capture, their swift and brutal silencing. The cost of his gamble was now starkly, terribly apparent. The success of the broadcast, the awakening of the goblin populace, felt like cold comfort against the backdrop of betrayal and the desperate fight for survival on the front lines.

Weeks passed by, it was at this time that Rattan had a visitor, though he was entirely unaware of it. Due to the vast disparity in strength and magical prowess, Rattan, lost in his self-pity and guilt, couldn’t sense the figure standing silently in the corner of his office, watching him drink himself into oblivion.

This silent observer was Vellok, who was now looking at the very mage who had thrown the entire Empire’s magical surveillance network into a frantic scramble. Even with the unexpected, borrowed help from Kaelen’s mana disruptors, Rattan’s broadcast had been an undeniably impressive feat. As Vellok watched the young mage drown his sorrows, he remembered his previous conversation with Kroza, the Arch-Librarian, about Rattan’s potential future.

In truth, Vellok hadn’t found Rattan particularly impressive before today. He was just another ambitious, if somewhat naive, young mage. But what had happened today—the widespread broadcast, the public outcry, the sheer audacity of it all—had irrevocably proven him wrong. And now, Vellok stood before him, about to embark on a desperate mission: to inform the young mage of their people’s true history, to unravel the complex web of reasons behind the Empire’s actions, and to hopefully make Rattan understand. He wanted Rattan to see why they were doing all this, and in doing so, to cease aiding their brother, Kaelen, who, in Vellok’s eyes, had become too resentful and blind to the larger, darker truths at play.

Vellok materialized silently in the armchair opposite Rattan, his sudden appearance causing not even a ripple in the young mage’s drunken stupor. Rattan, eyes bleary and unfocused, lifted his head slightly.

"Is that you, Gorok?" he slurred, fumbling with the bottle.

Vellok’s eyebrow arched, a flicker of surprise in his normally impassive gaze. "You must be more impressive than I thought if Gorok himself lets you use his name in such a manner as you do." His voice was low, resonating with a quiet authority that cut through the haze of alcohol.

Rattan simply downed another cup, liquid sloshing over his chin. He squinted at Vellok as if the older mage were profoundly stupid. "Of course, Master Gorok is a good friend of mine. If you’re not Gorok, then who are you?"

Vellok waved a hand, and a subtle, restorative spell washed over Rattan. The younger mage gasped, the fog in his mind clearing with startling speed, the metallic taste of alcohol replaced by a crisp clarity. At the same time, Vellok himself felt a jolt. The subtle, almost imperceptible thing residing deep within him, that ancient, silent observer, made a distinct, almost curious movement the moment his mana brushed against Rattan.

Within Rattan’s very being, Phantom, the mysterious entity nested deep within him, recoiled sharply the instant Vellok’s mana made contact. Something about the unique nature of Vellok’s arcane energy sent Phantom’s instincts screaming, immediately putting him on high alert. Simultaneously, he reached out, a desperate ethereal summons to Ikenga.

In the vast, verdant expanse of Rattan’s spiritual world, represented by the colossal, intertwining trees of Osisi and Boros, two enormous golden eyes slowly began to open. These were not Ikenga’s eyes; Ikenga’s gaze was singular and a deep, mesmerizing purple. Instead, these golden eyes belonged to the being that Vellok carried within him.

Ikenga who was called for didn’t hesitate. His colossal, singular, deep purple consciousness surged forward, his immense eye appearing within the spiritual realm, now fully facing the new, penetrating golden gaze.

The golden eyes, which had, just moments before, held a flicker of amusement when they had first settled on Phantom, now became deadly serious, their initial curiosity replaced by a chilling look of recognition. The two ethereal beings’ gazes clashed, a silent, cosmic confrontation within Rattan’s own essence. After a tense, drawn-out moment, the immense golden eyes retreated, pulling back from the piercing scrutiny of Ikenga’s deep purple gaze.

Ikenga also pulled back, his deep purple gaze receding into the depths of Rattan’s spiritual core. As he withdrew, a wave of calm assurance flowed from him to Phantom, communicating that everything was alright, despite the unsettling encounter.

Back in the Abyss, within his Zarvok domain, Ikenga brought a hand to his chin. A low chuckle rumbled from his chest. "My first interaction with an angel didn’t go so bad," he mused, an amused tone in his voice, echoing through the room he was in.

Yet, a deeper curiosity now stirred within him. How had such a powerful entity, an angel of all beings, managed to get sealed inside a mere goblin like Vellok? The thought lingered, a puzzle to be solved.

For now, he was curious on Vellok next step, why had he suddenly seek out Rattan, it seems like his chess piece is at the risk of being exposed.

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