The Guardian gods-Chapter 506

On the other side of the planet, chaos reigned beneath a blackened sky. The ground was scorched with magic and fresh blood as Vorenza’s abyssal legions advanced through broken terrain. Her path had once been blocked by a formidable sixth-tier mage—an obstacle she had removed with sheer overwhelming force, though at a steep and bitter cost.

The battle had left Vorenza grievously wounded, her once-formidable aura now tattered and dim. With her power critically depleted, she was forced to retreat deep into the Abyss to recover—a realm that fed on her will, yet allowed her to slowly reweave herself in silence.

For now, she could no longer speak directly, no longer command the battlefield with her overwhelming presence.

And yet, her absence did not halt the march of her army.

She had cultivated loyalty through fear and devotion in equal measure. Powerful demons under her banner—hardened generals of nightmare and bone—still carried out her will as though she whispered in their ears. Under their command, the demon horde spread like a tainted flood across the continent. Each day, swaths of blighted land were claimed. Villages were razed. Small towns crumbled, their defenders torn apart or twisted into servitude.

Only the ratmen stood firm.

Not because of strength—but because of desperation.

Their vast numbers clogged the battlefield, turning each advance into a war of attrition. Though enslaved and discarded by the very powers that summoned them, the ratmen fought with a wild and bitter rage. They had been forced into this war—pawns flung at the frontlines—but they resisted with everything they had. Every inch of ground cost blood, screams, and the acrid stench of burned flesh.

Today was no different.

Explosions rocked the charred soil. Shattered limbs flew through the smoke. The shrill laughter of demons echoed through the air—delighting in the carnage—while the ratmen roared with fury, their eyes red with exhaustion and hate.

But then, it began.

Amid the chaos, something changed.

The fifth-stage demons—veterans of countless campaigns, forged in the deepest pits of the Abyss—froze mid-charge. Their laughter died. Their expressions twisted into wary confusion. Something had shifted. No enemy had appeared. No spell had been cast.

But the air... it had changed.

Something unseen now clung to it like cold breath before a blizzard.

They looked around with twitching eyes, scanning the skies, the mountains, even their own troops—yet saw nothing. But their instincts screamed. Danger. Immense, unknowable danger.

They took a cautious step back. The sensation dimmed.

Another step back—it lessened further.

And then, without a single word exchanged, without so much as a howl or grunt, all the fifth-stage demons turned as one and ran.

They did not look back.

They moved as dark blurs through the blood-soaked battlefield, ignoring comrades and enemy alike. They sprinted toward the portal to the Abyss—far in the distance, pulsing with malignant light—yet even the great distance was meaningless to them when they tapped into their full, terrifying speed.

Only once they passed through the threshold did the choking sense of dread vanish. There, back within the raw chaos of the Abyss, they finally slowed—panting, confused, alert.

They looked to one another. Not in fear—but in uncertainty. What had happened? What force, what presence, had stirred such primal alarm in them? None of them knew. And that unsettled them even more.

But one did know.

Deep within the Abyss, hidden in shadow and flame, the Demon Lord Vorenza stirred from her meditative trance. Her wounds still bled ichor, but her mind—her awareness—had stretched far beyond the veil of the portal. She watched the field. Not the army. Not the ratmen.

She was focused on a point.

A single, empty point in the open air.

There was something there. Not visible, not yet revealed—but something that shook even her loyal fifth-stage demons to the bone.

A presence.

The space above the blood-soaked battlefield began to twist and distort, the air itself groaning as reality bent unnaturally. The tearing of the sky was not just visual—it was a soundless scream that echoed deep into the soul. All eyes turned skyward as a great rift opened like a wound in the world.

It was then that the fourth- and third-stage demons, who had been reveling in the slaughter, suddenly felt the same creeping dread that had overtaken the now-vanquished fifth-stage demon. Their instincts, dulled by bloodlust, were too slow to react in time. But that didn’t stop them from trying—they turned tail, some screeching in panic as they fled toward the dark portal that led back to the Abyss.

Then, as suddenly as it had opened, the twisting in the sky stopped. The rift sealed itself with a whispering hiss, and in its place floated a figure—Vellok.

But Vellok was not as he had been.

Gone was the goblin-like form known to those who knew him. What now stood suspended in the sky looked like an escaped patient from a divine asylum. He wore a tattered white robe that fluttered around him, stained with symbols no mortal mind could comprehend. His limbs were bound by ethereal, glowing chains that pulsed with divine restraint, each link humming with power.

Behind him stretched multiple wings, vast and majestic, but most of them were chained down—each shackle forged not of metal but of law, curse, and oath. Only two of his wings were free, unfurled like banners of judgment and wrath.

His face, too, had changed—no longer goblinoid but hauntingly human, beautiful in a way that unsettled. His golden eyes still burned, but now they were different: the left eye glowed with calm recognition as it gazed upon the demons below, while the right flickered with wariness and unease. The cautious eye... that one was Vellok himself, the part that remained sane, restrained.

With care, Vellok moved—his cautious eye narrowed as he broke a single chain around his right wrist. The sound was soft, like glass cracking in an empty cathedral, but the effect was immediate. His freed hand was pale, impossibly smooth, and radiated a beauty so profound it hurt to look at. Light clung to it like perfume, and from it emanated a scent—sweet, otherworldly, maddening.

The battlefield froze.

The ratmen, the demons, even the very wind stilled. All motion ceased as the scent descended like a divine mist. It seeped into the lungs of the demons below, igniting a hunger deeper than bloodlust—a hunger etched into the marrow of their being. Mouths fell open. Tongues lolled. Eyes dilated.

Even the retreating demons—those who had nearly reached the portal—paused. Some stepped through and vanished. Others, halfway in, hesitated as their nostrils flared. Their instincts screamed at them. That scent—it was ambrosia for demonkind. The flesh of that arm promised power beyond comprehension. One bite... just one bite, and they would transcend.

Several demons turned back.

But before the frenzy could begin, a finger snap was heard followed by the chain thst snapped taut again with a thunderclap of shimmering light. The freed hand was yanked back, bound once more in glowing restraints. Vellok’s form shimmered, his wings folding inward like closing gates. Without a word, without even a ripple, he vanished, leaving behind only silence... and chaos about to erupt.

As the celestial sphere groaned under an unbearable strain, a spectacle of cosmic destruction unfolded before Ikenga’s very eyes. Veins of incandescent light fractured the planet’s surface, like molten rivers carving paths across a dying giant. The air around Ikenga crackled with an unseen energy, a prelude to the cataclysm about to erupt.

Then, it happened. A blinding flash tore through the void, painting the black canvas of space with hues of furious orange, searing white, and violent crimson. The planet, pushed beyond its breaking point, detonated in a magnificent yet terrifying display of raw power. Chunks of its shattered form, colossal mountains ripped asunder, were flung outwards in a chaotic ballet of destruction.

Amidst this celestial debris, one immense shard, a jagged rock larger than any earthly mountain, hurtled directly towards Ikenga. It was as if the dying planet had launched its final, desperate projectile. Without hesitation, Ikenga extended his hand, and a shimmering aura enveloped the approaching behemoth. With a surge of his will, he merged with the rock, his essence intertwining with its old, mineral heart.

The immediate aftermath of the explosion was a shockwave that rippled through space, and it’s after effect felt by closer planets. But within this turbulent wake, the asteroid, now a vessel for Ikenga’s consciousness, moved with a focused intent. Guided by his will, it accelerated through the darkness, an unstoppable projectile aimed directly at the goblin’s world.

Drawn inexorably by the gravity of its target, the asteroid plunged into the atmosphere of the goblin’s world. Streaks of fire painted the sky as the immense rock succumbed to the planet’s pull. Just moments before impact, as the ground rushed up to meet his speeding vessel, Ikenga seamlessly withdrew himself from the asteroid. His form materialized in the air, the echoes of the cosmic explosion still resonating within him as he began his descent towards his intended location on the unsuspecting world below.