The Guardian gods-Chapter 521

"We have humans who claim the same title," she continued, her tone sharpening. "But most merely imitate what they don’t fully understand. Still, I wonder—do you think they would follow the same path, if given the same conditions? Or would our presence —our very interference—limit the natural arc of their evolution?"

Ikenga folded his arms, his tone deliberate. "If you had asked me that before we knew other worlds existed, I’d have proudly said their growth would never meet the expectation. I would have told you their limitations were carved in stone, a result of their nature, their blood, their narrow view of reality."

He paused, looking up to the room ceiling which depicted a picture of a war between demons.

"But now," he continued, "now that we know other realms intersect—now that knowledge bleeds across worlds like ink on parchment—I can’t say that anymore. The exposure to what lies beyond their stars... that alone changes everything."

"It’s only a matter of time," Ikenga said, his voice softer. "Before they truly understand how far the path they’ve set upon can lead. How vast the horizon really is. And when they do..." He smiled—not kindly. "The power they might grasp, the status they could command... it could shake the very bones of the world we come from."

"It’s not such a huge secret as we already knew about it, yet seeing it applied in such an experimental way still is suprising" Keles said to which Ikenga nodded.

"It’s time I tell you how my dinner with Zarvok went," Ikenga said, his voice casual, though his eyes—always too calm when he was troubled—betrayed a trace of thought still lingering on the conversation.

Keles looked up from the array of soul fragments spread across her worktable, her hands pausing mid-incantation. Alone with Ikenga, the veil that obscured her face in public was absent, revealing her features—elegant, precise, and unsettling in their beauty. Her eyes shimmered like still pools of dusklight, cool and unreadable. But Ikenga had learned to read the small tells: the way her gaze narrowed, how she tilted her chin just slightly when her interest deepened.

"So he needs the souls in my hand," she said, skipping pleasantries as she always did when work or politics took precedence. She already knew where this was going.

"Yes," Ikenga said, settling into the chair across from her. He reached for the obsidian goblet she always left for him, pouring himself wine from a bottle she hadn’t touched. "Either we hand them to him—or we keep them and make absolutely sure they never fall into the gargoyle’s grasp."

Keles exhaled slowly, the faintest twitch of amusement at the corner of her mouth.

"I suppose Zarvok made some grand offer as part of the bargain. Future loyalty, influence?" she asked, turning a soul orb slowly between her fingers. The trapped energy within pulsed strongly, like a heartbeat.

Ikenga gave a single nod. "He offered friendship. And a future where he sits on the Abyssal Throne."

Keles smiled now, fully, but it wasn’t a kind expression—it was the kind that might accompany someone calculating the odds of survival in a death game. "Charming. The imp plays at lordship."

"An imp who already commands the second largest army in this layer amd has hardly suffered any loss in this war," Ikenga reminded her. "And he’s not wrong—if things go the way he hopes, he may just ascend. And he has every reason to fear the gargoyle reaching the next stage."

"I wouldn’t hand those souls to him just to make him feel safe," Keles said, rising slowly. She moved like a drifting shadow. "What we hold here is not just power, Ikenga. It is balance. The Abyss is watching what we do with these."

"I know," Ikenga said. "But the question remains—do we let the wingless one rise and become a third force again? Or do we use these souls ourselves to tilt things in a direction we control?"

She turned her gaze to the soul rotating in her hands. "four sixth-stage souls... he’s right to want them. They’d be a kingmaker for his next generation."

"But they’re not our stepping stone," Ikenga said.

"Exactly." Keles tilted her head slightly. "We don’t play the abyss’s games. Zarvok and Vorenza can kill each other for the throne. I want something lasting."

Ikenga chuckled. "So do I. And if Zarvok wants to rise, let him. We won’t stop him. But we will sell him the ladder."

Keles smiled at that, faint and cold. "The price?"

"That’s what I want us to decide." Ikenga leaned forward. "What’s worth trading power we don’t intend to use, for a future favor we will?"

Keles thought for a moment before speaking. "Information. Access. Artifacts—anything tied to the invaded world. If Zarvok intends to reach for the core, then he’ll come across secrets that may prove useful to our world"

Ikenga’s eyes gleamed. "You want first claim to anything that doesn’t shine with raw power."

"Power is fleeting," Keles replied. "But knowledge... and relics... can be refined, broken down, studied. There’s potential hidden in these things."

"Then we propose a bargain," Ikenga said. "We give him the souls—three, not all four. He gets what he needs to secure his place. In return, everything he finds in this invasion—every extraordinary text, artifact, eve mage towers—we get first pick."

Keles nodded. "And the last soul?" frёeωebɳovel.com

"We keep it," Ikenga said, smiling. "As insurance. Or as bait."

Zarvok on the other side of the abyss didn’t know what he needed for his ascension is being used a trade tactics, if phanthom was close by he might have been able to convince Ikeng and Keles to get him one.

With the souls decided, Kelse waved her hand, and they transformed into glowing orbs that settled on the table. She then turned her attention back to Ikenga.

"Have you missed me?" she purred, a teasing lilt in her voice that danced in the dimly lit chamber.

A low rumble vibrated in Ikenga’s chest as he buried his face in the curve of her neck, inhaling the intoxicating scent of starlight and something uniquely hers. His lips pressed a lingering kiss against her skin, a silent hum of agreement resonating deep within him.

Kelse’s fingers traced the strong line of his jaw, a smile playing on her lips. "Indeed," she murmured, her voice laced with anticipation. "We have a great deal of catching up to do."

In one swift, fluid motion, Ikenga scooped her into his arms, lifting her effortlessly from the carved stool. He turned, his eyes locked with hers, and began to carry her towards the inviting expanse of the bed, its silken sheets promising a haven of intimacy. "Yes," he breathed, his voice thick with longing, "we do."

Yet, even in this moment of reunion, a familiar thought flickered in his mind. Almost as an afterthought, he managed to slip in the question, "Shouldn’t Xylia join us?"

Kelse’s playful mood shifted in an instant. Her fingers, moments before caressing, now found a patch of skin on his side and pinched, twisting with a delightful yet firm reprimand. "She will have to wait, my love," Kelse said, her eyes sparkling with possessiveness. "This moment, this time... it is just for you and me."

The forest floor blurred beneath Chief’s makeshift, steam-powered roller skates, a frantic whirring the only response to the pounding that echoed through the trees. He risked a glance over his shoulder, the sight enough to send a fresh jolt of adrenaline through his rat-like frame. Two hulking figures, clad in dark, intricately runed armor, crashed through the trees with terrifying speed. Ogres. Not the brutish kind of folklore, but the Empire’s elite, their movements fluid and purposeful, each step imbued with a subtle hum of elemental power.

Weeks had bled into years since his escape from the Rattan place, a lifetime compressed into a desperate flight across the Empire’s sprawling territories. It was during these harrowing weeks that the unsettling transformation had begun. Like Rattan before him, a veil had lifted from Chief’s senses, revealing the vibrant tapestry of mana that pulsed through the world. A breathtaking, terrifying revelation for a race seemingly blind to its existence.

This newfound perception, however, had come at a terrible cost. The unseen demonic spider, a constant tormentor since... he couldn’t even recall when it had begun, now tightened its grip. The mana, a source of potential power, was also a conduit, amplifying the spider’s insidious influence, its whispers growing louder, its phantom limbs feeling increasingly real. Physical changes were now undeniable. He’d stretched unnaturally taller, and two additional limbs sprouted from his torso, twitching and instinctively flexing. From the tips of these new appendages, sticky, shimmering strands of web could now be launched. A grotesque mutation, a desperate adaptation for survival.

His altered form hadn’t gone unnoticed. The Ogres, already relentless in their pursuit, had become even more aggressive, their rune-etched armor glowing with focused intent. They’d even deployed a mage, a fact that sent a shiver of dread down Chief’s spine. Thankfully, the mage seemed to share a profound dislike for strenuous activity, only materializing when Chief appeared cornered, a silent, looming threat that cut off all path of escape.